No Way Out
by She Side Walks
Summary: An in-depth look and twist on the Apprentice storyline. In addition to implanting Nanoscopic Probes in the other four Titans, Slade takes it a step further to ensure Robin's loyalty. With the exits blocked, Robin comes to terms with his fate as Slade's puppet. Rated T for violence and language, might be bumped.
1. Chapter 1

The clock beeped 3 am at Titans Tower.

The moon was an inch away from full, waning gibbous. It hung amidst a curtain of starry twinkles that reflected blurrily upon the black waves below. Across from the island on which the Tower sat was Jump City, a coastal town that had the unfortunate propensity of attracting the worst of the worst.

During daylight hours, it was hard to believe that such a sun-bathed metropolis could ever be a hive for, well, the villainous Hive Academy and the oddball, super criminals like Doctor Light, Mad Mod, Killer Moth, and a host of others. It was sunny three hundred days out of the year and the less exciting crimes—such as robbery, assault, drug dealing, etc.—were at a record low and had been for a few years now. Kids played obliviously in the parks; packs of peaceful people swarmed around food trucks on their way to work; dogs yapped playfully on every street corner; and the buildings appeared surprisingly unblemished.

Unfortunately this was only a happy veneer, for beneath the smiling faces was a flicker of fear and a readiness to scatter at the first hint of trouble.

On bad days, the people of Jump City could expect to see buses flying through the air or hear a rush of screams when something exploded down the street. They knew what to do when a building collapsed and an avalanche of stone fell upon them, just as they knew where to go when things got out of control.

Houses were usually equipped with a fire extinguisher, a bunker, a reinforced steel door, and an up-to-date alarm system. Those who apartment searched—and had the money for it—wouldn't look twice at a complex that didn't come with such non-negotiable amenities. For the less fortunate, there was a special fund built into the budget of the city to pay for at least a fire extinguisher. Government funded bunkers and aid stations cropped up every few blocks, their Red Cross flags fluttering high in the air.

The citizens took no risk when it came to their safety and Jump City was happier for it.

Indeed, the residents knew better than to punch in for work or go outside at all when a villain came to town. Schools closed, CEOs declared a spontaneous holiday, and yellow 'DO NOT CROSS' police tape wrapped around the tristate area like tinsel on a Christmas tree.

Needless to say, the construction industry was busy and booming—orange safety cones seemed to outnumber the people—but for most of the year, despite the occasional flamboyancy, Jump City was perfectly normal and law-abiding…or as much as it could be with superheroes and villains roaming about.

Of course, times would have been much tougher if the Titans had not set up shop on the small island just offshore. Without them, Jump City would never have had a chance at normalcy. Semblance or no, an unspoken contract existed between the Titans and the people they protected: the team would do their best to beat the baddies and the citizens would do their best to stay out of the way.

On this particular night, the Tower monitors were blissfully quiet. There was not a hint of trouble on the radar. No reported break ins and no maniacal laughter to be heard.

It was rare that the team got a full eight hours of rest, but tonight seemed to be promising just that. Soft snores could be heard through the steel walls. The air was cold and static and an aura of deep slumber hung about, shushing any would-be noise.

Still, one small and blaring light remained stubbornly on. Only four of the five beds were filled with cozied, dozing teens.

A single black-feathered, red-chested bird remained vigilantly awake in spite of the rare, unobtrusive night—Robin.

He sat stock-still at his disheveled desk, his fingers flying on the keyboard with the noiseless grace of a panther. The computer monitor flared brightly back at him in the darkness of his bedroom like a single, fluorescent ray of silver sun. It illuminated his masked, concentrated expression yet left the rest of his figure in deep shadow making him appear bodiless.

Three empty mugs smelling of old coffee sat neatly stacked upon his paper-clogged desk in addition to a speckled plate and warped fork. Bite mark indentations could be seen upon the utensil's prongs, practically chewed through.

Files and files of casework piled up all around him as he worked—an impressive nest. Newspaper clippings decorated the gray walls haphazardly, a thousand different headlines.

" _BREAK IN AT WAYNE ENTERPRISES"_

" _SEARCH CONTINUES FOR MISSING CHIMPS"_

" _HOMELESS RATES AT NEW TIME LOW"_

" _TEEN TITANS THWART THIEVERY, FAIL TO CATCH PERPETRATOR"_

" _SCIENTISTS BAFFLED BY POWER OUTAGES"_

" _JULY 4_ _TH_ _CELEBRATION CUT SHORT BY ELECTRICAL SHORTAGE"_

" _NEW VILLAIN ON THE BLOCK"_

" _WHO IS SLADE?"_

This group of headlines hung the closest to Robin's desk. Certain words were circled in red within the respective articles, a jumbled puzzle.

An untouched bed waited patiently against the eastern wall while an inventor's table stood stoically in the center of the room under a spotlight, a pile of dissected gadgets covering it. A shelf hung over it, containing a variety of ready-to-go weapons and tools: Robin's birdarangs, collapsible bo-staffs, explosives, and grappling hooks.

The computer Robin sat in front of leaned against the back wall, facing the doorway. A sparse closet was built into the western wall. Seven sets of identical tops and bottoms hung inside along with two leather jackets, two black shirts, and two ragged pairs of jeans.

Despite the lackluster supply of shirts and pants, there was a healthy stock of shoes: Vans, Converses, Skaters, Air Jordans, and a host of other brands all colored black or dark gray with little pops of color. They sat neatly beside each other on the closet floor.

Finally, a small, waist-high dresser squatted beside the bed with a small mirror situated above it. Although the drawers were shut, they were filled with socks, underwear, and, of course, black masks. Teenage knickknacks filled up the remaining space in the room: band posters, a small stereo system, a bundle of headphones, an MP3 player, comic books, and few bottles of cologne.

Robin smashed a few more keys before a yawn broke free from his mouth. He sighed and stretched, rolled his shoulders and leaned back in his chair, frustrated. No matter how many times he studied the cases, he was no closer to pinpointing the link between them. He glanced sharply at the newspaper that hung nearest to him.

" _WHO IS SLADE?"_

Reaching upward, he snagged it off the wall. The top was ripped in several places, splintering into the headline. Each time Robin pinned it back up he promised he would leave it alone this time. He had to stop obsessing. There were a thousand other cases to worry about. He couldn't fixate. He had to keep his head in the game, he told himself sternly.

Yet, the clipping always seemed to end up in his palms with another snag at the top from where he tore it down.

He squinted at the article for the millionth time, forcing his tired brain into overdrive.

He found himself wishing more and more for another breadcrumb that would lead him to Slade—a lucky photo, a soundbite, a blip on a security camera, a rumor, a whisper, anything that would help. For months now, Robin had searched painstakingly for a single break but it eluded him.

Night after night he eschewed sleep and instead took up the chase after a ghost and for what? All he found was frustration.

Sometimes he wondered if the man he had so briefly fought was real. The bruises he had obtained from the encounter certainly _felt r_ eal. He rubbed his collarbone absentmindedly. Slade had kicked him so fiercely there that Robin thought he had broken it. The echo of it still rang—a taunting reminder.

" _Patience, Robin. We'll meet face to face some other time."_ Slade's voice jeered inside his head.

Robin's lip curled into a sneer.

" _What are you planning_?" he whispered at the clipping with a scowl.

As if in answer to his question, the sirens of the Tower began to shriek.

Jumping out of his skin and his chair, Robin threw the crumpled newspaper to the floor and quickly strapped on his belt and snatched a bo-staff. He was out the door in seconds, leaving the mystery of Slade for another day.

As Robin was about to find out, he had not been the only insomniac that night. Slade awaited the team in the lounge.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

The clock chimed 5 am.


	2. Chapter 2

Robin wandered through the dark sewer tunnels, alone and on edge. The portable GPS clutched in his hand chimed quietly, muffled by his thick glove. The handy device guided him deeper into the bowels of the city as he made his way toward where Slade supposedly lurked. The closer he got, the more frenzied the beeps became.

It wouldn't be long now.

The sewage water that had been ankle-deep was beginning to thin as he walked, but the damp air still reeked of mold and mud and waste. The squeaks and pitter-patter of rats crossed his path occasionally, their bright eyes shining in the cavernous dark. Pings of leaking water echoed forever as he wound his way through the snaking passageway.

Robin had gotten separated from his team due to an untimely visit from Cinderblock at the start of the mission. Although not ideal, he was confident that it was probably for the best. His friends would disarm the Chronoton Detonator, and Robin would disarm Slade—win, win.

If everything went according to plan, the masked villain's plan would be foiled and the psychopath himself would be captured, tried, and sentenced to life in a cage far away from Jump City and, more importantly, Robin.

Freedom from Slade's shadow was so close he could taste it.

After tonight, Robin wouldn't have to stay awake for hours and hours, combing through case files. He wouldn't have to fear his bed and the nightmares that lurked there. He wouldn't have to relive his shame from the Red-X fiasco over and over again. Things would be normal again, he told himself optimistically.

His boots hit dry, cobbled ground. The GPS let out a final, shrill squeak and tolled no more.

Robin didn't have to glance at the screen to know he had arrived at his destination. An intimidating set of rusty iron doors cropped up before him, bolted into the rock. He could hear a soft buzz reverberating from behind them. Slits of weak light emanated from between the cracks.

Robin grinned viciously and reached for an explosive.

* * *

"Hurry young Titans," Slade mused to himself. "Your time is running out."

He stood watching four massive, column-sized audiovisual monitors. On each screen was a close up of the four remaining Titans as they scrambled after his minions in another part of the sewer system.

Slade absorbed each face, memorizing every idiosyncrasy and weakness: Starfire's hesitancy to unleash her power to its full potential; Raven's propensity to become overwhelmed; Beast Boy's carelessness and eagerness to prove himself; and Cyborg's dualistic self-doubt—man or machine?

He chuckled softly, cruelly. How easy it would be to exploit them.

His laughter bounced back at him, a reverberating chorus.

Slade's lair matched his cold-hearted malice.

The walls and floor were made of gray concrete and appeared positively black in the aggressively dim atmosphere. Churning cogs could be heard somewhere, spinning for an unknown purpose. A railed catwalk rose up from the first level and ringed it. Black steel rafters spiraled and disappeared into the hidden ceiling, climbing infinitely.

Undetectable at first glance, three sets of tunnels spread out from the atrium where Slade stood. A handful of intense spotlights were the only sources of light in the area and the thick shadows hid the cavern's sizeable expanse. Any intruder would find himself lost and groping as he tried—and failed—to find his way around.

Slade cocked his head to the side, brooding. He lifted a hand to his makeshift chin, running his thumb against the slits.

His arena was set. All it needed was a second player.

Impatience bit at his mind. His prize should have been here by now.

Suddenly, an earth-shaking boom sounded from behind. Rubble from his destroyed entrance cascaded noisily to the floor. A smirk grew on his face beneath the metallic mask. Smoking pebbles bounced against the back of his legs, but he didn't so much as flinch. He had expected a theatrical arrival.

Heroes were _so_ predictable.

The villain kept his back turned as Robin jumped down from the catwalk, a twenty-foot drop. He landed with ease, summersaulting over the wreckage. Slade's colorless eye swiveled to the side coolly.

"Robin," he acknowledged evenly, inclining his disguised head. "Welcome. I've been expecting you for some time. I was beginning to wonder if Cinderblock was too much of challenge."

Robin's blood boiled instantly; his hatred came swiftly. He was crouched low, his fingertips pressed into the dusty ground. As Slade spoke, they curled.

"Looking for this?"

Turning slowly around, Slade held up a rectangular, metal box and shook it tauntingly. Robin recognized the trigger for the Chronoton Detonator and his eyes narrowed. He shifted his legs, putting more pressure on his toes as he prepared to spring.

Taking that as his cue, Slade walked forward and placed the device on a patch of illuminated floor. He took a step back, his horrible black-blue eye fixed and unblinking. His posture was straight as an arrow as he anticipated the boy's first move.

"Well, here it is," he goaded. "If you want it, come and take it."

Not wasting another second, Robin snarled and shot forward, immediately going for the trigger. As he jumped, he tossed a birdarang at Slade's head which was smoothly deflected. It clattered, ineffective, to the floor—metal against stone.

It had only been a few seconds and Robin already knew he was going to pay dearly for that mistake.

A foot from the device, a bone-rattling force pounded into his stomach, sending him flying. His hip skidded against the concrete as he bounced along the ground. After what seemed like an eternity, he rolled to a humiliating stop. A debilitating fear wound itself around his core, threatening to paralyze.

Fortunately, it was soon drowned out by a remorseless pain which sprouted from his side. Slade had scored a broken rib on his first hit.

With starry sight, Robin could see the detonator sitting perfectly untouched in its personal spotlight a dozen yards away, practically scoffing at him. Slade, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.

Struggling to his feet, Robin swayed and tried to ignore the ache of his lungs. The right side of his face was already streaked with angry, red abrasions. A trickle of blood seeped down his cheek, a rough beginning.

"This is going to be easier than I thought…" came Slade's jeer.

It rang off the shadowed walls, echoing evilly.

Robin emitted a guttural growl, grinding his molars into dust. Stubborn pride and a rush of adrenaline began to deafen the hurt. He would not be cowed so easily.

Eyes sharp and ears pricked, he waited for the inevitable.

Footsteps came from the right.

Robin just managed to leap backward as Slade's fist came crashing out of the dark. Twirling away, he landed expertly on the pads of his feet and catapulted off the ground.

He struck air as Slade slithered out of the way, his divided facade going in and out of shadow. Off balance, Robin barely managed to evade the incoming kidney shot. Knuckles grazed his shirt.

Shuffling backward, Robin set the chess board anew. He was determined to keep his enemy in his sights.

Playing along, Slade mirrored him and the dueling pair squared off and circled one another. The trigger remained a passive spectator in the corner of Robin's eye, a subtle reminder in the back of his head.

Slade struck first, throwing a freight-train kick Robin's way. The teen blocked it, but bruised his forearm and weakened his stance in the process. His feet skidded back an inch, and Slade capitalized on it ruthlessly. His strikes were a blur as he set upon Robin—a hailstorm of fists.

With each successful hit, Robin's form crumbled. Slade left no window of opportunity open for him to wiggle through. Nonetheless, he had to do something soon or he would find himself soundly defeated.

Holding on for dear life, he kept his toes glued to the floor and refused to relinquish another inch.

"Come now, Robin. Sooner or later, you'll have to fight back."

Slade's voice was frighteningly composed. Robin couldn't even hear breath exit through the slits in the man's metal mask.

Strategy quickly failing, Robin lost a little more endurance with each feint, dodge, and block. Each of Slade's punches landed closer and closer to their intended targets.

Slade was a shark in the water and Robin was a bucket full of chum.

Panic rising, the boy wonder ducked around another one of Slade's perfectly timed punches and bolted, deciding to try his luck in the dark. He needed time to think of a different, less direct plan of action.

Unfortunately for him, Slade had been waiting for him to do just that. As Robin danced away into the gloom, he felt something curl and lock around his collar. Dragged backward, he instinctively drove an elbow into Slade's mask, desperate to escape.

The villain swerved out of the way last second, but Robin had managed to nick the chin. The clink of his bone against the metal reverberated into the heavy silence.

Slade's eye narrowed darkly and his grip on the boy tightened, gloves crackling.

Soon, Robin was being tossed left and right, from one side of the room to the other. When he collided with one stone wall, he found himself being thrown to another one after a brief, hopeless scuffle.

Fight or flight, he acted on pure instinct whenever Slade hunted him down. Yet, every punch, every kick, every dirty trick, was easily checked. Bruises covered his limbs from where his bones met Slade's stony knuckles and boots.

It was agonizing…and humiliating.

 _God, what would Bruce say if he saw you like this_? his brain screamed at him in disgust. _Get up! Get up! Go! Fight!_

Veins filled with a thumping rage, he reinvigorated his attacks, putting every ounce of hatred he felt into the waning battle. Unbaffled, Slade continued to systematically tear down Robin's efforts.

To make matters worse, each time the teen failed or miscalculated, he was there with a taunt and an unwanted critique.

"Come now, Robin. You'll have to do better than that."

"I haven't even broken a sweat."

"Good technique…but not perfect."

"You can't even touch me."

"How can you save a city if you can't save yourself?"

The fight unraveled into a cat and mouse chase. Robin turned his attention to the trigger. If he could just get to it, Slade's plan could be at least stopped. Robin might lose this battle, but he would ultimately win the war.

Skirting Slade's reach, he shimmied up the beams and swung from the catwalk rails and twisting rafters. He barrel-rolled until his shoulders screamed and sprinted until his heels went numb. He bent over backwards—literally—in his pursuit of the trigger, but each acrobatic attempt was met with frustration and another welt to add to his already substantial collection.

Dusting off, he gave one last, desperate try.

Luring Slade as far from the trigger as he could, he pushed off a wall and leapt. He propelled into the air and grabbed hold of a low-hanging rafter that ran parallel to the ground ten feet up. Before he could be yanked back down, he swung up onto it like a high bar and took a moment to gain his footing.

Then, as if on a balance beam, he cartwheeled toward the trigger. As easy as breathing, his battered body cavorted with the mastery of an Olympian. His legs were straight and strong and supple. Each bend of his back was agony, but his muscle memory did not fail him. The beam groaned beneath his weight, but he knew just how to adjust his grip to keep it from snapping.

"Good…good…" Slade hissed from down below, his split façade lost in the obscurity. "Excellent form."

As Robin approached, he vaulted off the rafter in a tight backflip. Landing with grace, he dashed forward, his eyes fixed on little rectangular box. Hands outstretched, his fingertips grazed the device just before Slade body-slammed him.

Something cracked inside. The sound made his gut twist. His left shoulder went numb and limp.

Flying, his head clipped a column and he smashed into the familiar concrete. The edges of his sight blackened and blurred. An overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed over him.

He shook his head, trying to keep it lucid.

"No…" he coughed out bitterly. "No!"

Blood dribbled down his chin, overflow from his mouth. He spat and rolled onto his knees. The world spun discordantly. He swallowed a rush of bile and tried to stand, but his body was done. His legs gave out.

He collapsed to all fours. When his left arm locked, he had to choke down a scream as the shoulder bone ground grotesquely in the socket. He shifted his weight completely to his right side. It wasn't much of an improvement, but it kept him from blacking out.

Cold sweat and sticky blood dripped down his temple and onto the floor. Everything hurt, everything throbbed. His breath came out in short, panting gasps. His lip was swollen and quickly blackening. His palms and knees were ripped open and his uniform was mangled and stained with splotches of dark red. There was a sizeable tear in his mask. Dust covered him from head to toe.

The trigger watched him with a jaded, mocking eye from a dozen feet away.

He smacked the ground with a sore fist as he sat back on his toes, incensed. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He cradled his left arm, gingerly clutching it to his chest, and hung his head.

"I understand your frustration, Robin. You hate losing as much as I do," Slade drawled callously as he stepped out of the shadows. "One of the many qualities we have in common."

Robin spat out another glob of bloody saliva.

"I'm nothing like you," he growled, wiping his jaw on his sleeve, refusing to look up.

"No, Robin," Slade retorted, his cruel eye flashing. "You _are_ me."

Something else snapped inside Robin, then, but it had nothing to do with bones. One minute he was bloody and broken on the ground, practically groveling at Slade's feet, and then suddenly his mind was blank with a flat, blind fury that consumed every sense and thought.

With a savage, bestial cry, he rocketed upward.

His fist connected with Slade's steel jaw.

Taken off-guard, Slade staggered backward. Robin pressed his advantage without hesitation. With his bad arm hanging at his side, he closed the distance between them and threw his whole weight into a brutal punch. It smashed into Slade's copper cheek with a satisfying clank. Spittle flying from his broken mouth, Robin ignored the subsequent throb now radiating down his other arm and butterfly-kicked Slade across the room.

The movement caused another wave of mind-numbing anguish to ripple through his body, but he was far too enraged to care.

Slade sailed backward. Robin rushed forward and snatched the trigger.

Device in hand, he spun around, waiting for another attack that did not come. His heart was flying in his chest as stared into the dark. Lungs burning and shoulders heaving, his face collapsed into a wolf-like grin.

 _I won_ , he thought in concussed wonderment, swaying. _I did it._

Although some fading part of him realized that Slade could probably saunter up and pluck the detonator right out of his hand without so much as a flail, his muddled mind refused to see logic.

"It's over, Slade!" he yelled hoarsely at the encroaching shadows.

Casual footsteps plodded toward him. An electric chill went up his spine.

"On the contrary, Robin…"

The trigger began to fizzle and spark. It burned Robin's palm as it disintegrated. With widened, dazed eyes he watched as the burning pieces floated to the floor and turned to hopeless ash.

Foreboding fear and sheer confusion fluttered through his chest. His lips went numb, his fingers trembled, and his bloodied mouth parted in disbelief.

Slade emerged from the shadows, utterly unfazed and unscratched, his hands behind his back.

"…this is only the beginning."


	3. Chapter 3

"Robin? Robin where are you?!" Starfire cried into the communicator. "Please respond!"

It had been an hour and still she received no reply. All was static.

The rest of the Titans stood quiet and reserved behind her. The early dawn was rising with an aura of dread. The street was uncomfortably deserted. Not a vagrant was seen nor a dog heard. Trash tumbleweeds blew helter-skelter across the pavement. A chilly breeze twisted the group's clothes and caused a rash of gooseflesh to sprout from their skin.

Starfire clutched the communicator close to her chest. Something was wrong, very wrong. A nameless fear was closing in around her heart like a slow-moving fog. It wasn't like Robin to be so late.

She spun around, a flame in her emerald eyes.

"Why does he not answer?!"

"His locator's been deactivated," Cyborg said gently for the third time. "We have no way to find him."

Undaunted, Starfire flipped back to the communicator and continued to fire exclamations into it.

"Robin! You _must_ answer!"

Beast Boy nudged Cyborg in the ribs as he watched Starfire's rising panic.

"Dude, not good," he murmured under his breath. "How did his locator get deactivated in the first place?"

Raven answered that in a clipped monotone.

"Either Robin did it himself or…" She sighed to mask the quiver in her voice.

"Someone did it for him," Cyborg finished grimly.

Beast Boy's jade-colored skin paled into a sickly green.

* * *

Slade's words buzzed around Robin's head like a swarm of angry, mutated hornets.

" _Trigger? There is no trigger. Because there is no detonator."_

" _For some time now, I've been looking for an apprentice…"_

" _...And Robin, I've chosen_ you. _"_

" _Congratulations."_

"… _Nanoscopic Probes, Robin…"_

"… _with the push of a button, I will destroy your friends…"_

" _If you join me, if you swear to serve me…I will allow them to live."_

Robin peered blurrily at the screens in front of him. Never in his wildest nightmare did he imagine _this_ is what the psycho had been planning. His friends' blood was tainted with infinitesimal mines that were set to go off at Slade's slightest whim. With his own eyes, he watched as Starfire, Raven, Beast Boy, and Cyborg's red blood cells raced from artery to artery, unaware of the parasitic death-traps strapped to their backs.

"What if I refuse?" he pondered in a dead voice, already knowing the answer.

Slade stood off to the side, basking in his victory. He held Robin's communicator like a trophy, tossing it up and down in his palm. Upon hearing the beaten Titan's question, he stuffed the thing into a pocket and clasped his hands behind his back. With long, quick strides, he approached Robin and leaned forward.

Face to face, his coal-hued eye narrowed and a bolt of spite raced through it. He twisted the knife.

"They will be annihilated, Robin," he explained lowly, inhumanly. "And _you_ will be the cause of it. It'll be your finger on the button that seals their fate."

Robin had expected nothing less, but it still didn't ease the blow. Worse than the dislocated shoulder and cracked rib, Slade's devilish contract wounded him to his very soul. It hurt to stand, to breathe, to think.

"I would _never_ …!" he weakly protested. "You…you couldn't make me…!"

"Dear child, if I wanted, I could _make_ you do it _now_ ," Slade snapped happily, his words laced with an eager threat.

"Then why don't you?!" the boy wonder hissed between pained pants, calling the bluff.

Slade paused for a moment and straightened to his full height. He rolled his shoulders in a quick, nonchalant shrug. Robin's deadened heart revitalized. The horrid sound of its frantic beats pounded a death-knell in his ears. The villain couldn't be serious...

But before Robin could so much as blink or cringe, Slade's gloved, plated hand was cinched around his left wrist. With a merciless yank, Robin flew forward, a scream tearing through his throat. It felt as if his arm was being ripped from the socket. How could such a limp, useless thing cause so much pain?

Dangling in Slade's grip, Robin flailed pathetically put found no purchase for his efforts. His toes scuffed the ground as he kicked feebly. He couldn't so much as raise his good arm to fight the demon off. Every twist or turn in Slade's vice only added to his misery. Sensation and reason was stripped away by the agony emanating from his shoulder.

A small, cylindrical device rose out of Slade's sleeve, buttressed. It had the appearance of a retro joystick. A bright red button on top, the steel stem had the color of old, brown blood. With stoic precision, Slade dislodged and transferred the trigger to Robin's stolen palm. He curled the boy's trembling, numb fingers around it and held them there—thumb on top of thumb.

"Any more questions?" Slade mused, purring.

Robin groaned in response.

He could feel the rounded switch under his gloved thumb while Slade's icy fingers constricted around his closed knuckles, tightening. Robin put every last ounce of strength into keeping his left hand still and unmoving, despite the tremendous anguish it caused.

"Now," the villain continued and his susurrated breath kissed the top of Robin's head. "With the push of a button, your _precious_ friends will be nothing but piles of ash. And once the detonation sequence starts, it can't be stopped. Not even by me."

Slade's grasp squeezed and Robin felt the trigger's spring begin to coil. His breath hitched and his hidden blue eyes widened in terror. One centimeter, one twitch, could mean sudden, painful death for his friends—his family. For the second time in his life, he would be an orphan…

 _Orphan. Orphan. Orphan._ The word crippled his petulant resolve.

"Of course, it needn't be this way," Slade cooed. "Simply agree to my terms and everyone lives."

The atmosphere suffocated him. Shadows closed in and blocked off the exits. Robin's mind raced, searching for a way out but he couldn't find one. The seconds ticked by slowly as he panicked. He felt his strength leave him, fail him, with each click of the clock. His thumb threaten to collapse as it trembled.

He couldn't escape.

"So, Robin..."

Slade's coils tightened, fangs poised to strike.

"...do we have a deal?"

There was no way out.

Unable to speak, Robin gave one, tight jerk of his chin and hung his head in surrender.

"Excellent."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hope you guys are enjoying this as much as I am! :)**

* * *

A strand of dirt-encrusted, jet-black hair crept over Robin's crumpled brow, his chin on his chest. Sweat stung his eyes and he convinced himself that that was the reason behind the sudden rush of threatening tears. He wanted badly to cover his face and turn away from the last person he wanted to weep in front of, but he remained on Slade's hook—a fish out of water.

An irrational, furious blush reddened his pale cheeks. He crushed his jaw together and shoved his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He had to swallow several times to stifle the sob that wanted to burst from his gullet.

Slade watched Robin's forlorn progression with an entertained smirk. The boy had thought himself so indestructible, so _untouchable_ , before today. It was an honor to be the one to shatter his arrogance.

Prying open Robin's frozen hand, Slade snatched back the device and stashed it in a compartment in his steely vambrace.

He slowly lowered the boy to the floor, but held onto his injured arm. Petulant and humiliated, Robin gave a fruitless tug and immediately regretted it as his shoulder squealed in complaint. He winced and cringed, baring his teeth.

"Hold still," Slade ordered, carefully twisting the wrist and assessing the damage.

A clever, cheeky retort clamored up into Robin's mouth, begging for release. Looking as if he had swallowed a batch of Beast Boy's soybean scrambled "eggs," he clamped his swollen lips shut and bit his tongue. He was in no condition to go another round, even if he desperately wanted to.

After a few moments, Slade nodded to himself and his eye flicked up.

"It's dislocated," he explained calmly, softly. "I'll have to set it."

Robin bristled. There was no way his _worst enemy_ was popping his shoulder back into place.

"I'll do it mysel—hey!"

As he whined, Slade seized him by the scruff of the neck. He dragged him forward as if he were a cub in a lioness's mouth and shepherded him to the right side of the room. Their forms silhouetted against the still-blaring screens, two battling, black blobs.

"Let go!" Robin snarled, unable to thrash like he wanted as he favored his left arm.

"You're only going to make it worse," Slade lectured dryly, not missing a step.

Resentful, Robin gave a few more shoves before calling it quits. Trying to worm out of Slade's control was like trying to escape a choke-collar and, to make matters worse, he could barely see five feet in front of him as his captor led him further into the pitch black lair. As the light completely evaporated, Robin leaned against Slade's clutch to keep from falling.

It was mortifying, and he cursed bitterly under his breath because of it.

"Language, Robin," came the coy remark, a hint of amusement coloring it. "I wouldn't want to have to wash your mouth out with soap."

His expletives became disgruntled murmurs, echoing softly.

A slight breeze fanned his tender face as they walked, growing stronger with each step. He could hear a fan pumping in the distance and the distinct whir of electricity. The space was smaller; his fingers grazed cobbled stone from time to time. It was humid and a faint smell of salt and rust was in the air. Robin guessed that he had to be near the ocean by now. The GPS that he had followed earlier had taken him due West for several miles.

As he tried to keep the map straight in his head, Slade stopped suddenly and steered him forcefully to the left. Boots scuffing, he was practically carried as he stumbled and bumbled, trying to get his bearings.

He felt like a fool and blushed feverishly again, grateful that the dark had at least granted him some cover. Red-faced, he hoped Slade didn't notice the heat emanating from his neck.

Far in the distance, there was a faint glow. As Robin regained his footing, he squinted at its blurry form. Although his sight had already grown accustomed to the dark, he could see the faint outlines of his surroundings.

The tunnel's dimensions were indeed small. The width stretched about as far as Cyborg's wingspan and the height was just tall enough to where Slade did not have to hunch.

As the pair approached the dim light—which turned out to be a small, fluorescent bulb—Robin realized that another set of iron doors stood guard at the end of the cavern. The sight of them made his heart drop into his stomach. Slade batted the lightbulb out of his way as they passed, making the shadows dance like mad. Stopping at the threshold, he kept his claw around Robin's neck as he twisted the door-handle.

The bolt clicked open and the sound of it sent another wave of echoes back down the tunnel. Slade gave a push and the hinges swung with a nails-on-chalkboard screech. Cringing, Robin was then shoved unceremoniously forward.

The click of a lamp being switched on pricked his ears and the space became illuminated. The sudden brightness made his retinas ache, even with his mask.

The doors slammed behind him. His heart jumped from his stomach and into his throat.

Blind, he was made to sit down on something cold and hard and round. His lids fluttered violently, blinking madly as his vision cleared. Slade wrested Robin's left arm from his side and re-examined it, prodding it with cold, distant fingers.

Sight returning, Robin realized he was sitting on a stainless steel stool in the middle of a furnished chamber that smelled and looked new. Disinfectant and laundry detergent tickled his nose.

A gray, quilted rug covered most of the floor, stopping a few feet from the perimeter. It was thick, durable-looking, and spotless.

A blanket-laden bed with an iron headboard leaned on the left side of the room, running parallel with the entire wall. A two foot high, square-shaped slab of stone sat next to the bed. A small, wireless lamp rested on it and a chunk of reflecting glass was nailed in the brick above it. Across the room on the right side, a hollow was carved into the rock. With a stab of surprise, Robin realized it was a makeshift closet. A few sets of dark clothes hung over a neat row of black leather boots and a pile of socks.

A granite desk was pushed up against the back wall, facing the doors. It already hosted a batch of untouched notebooks and pencils. Robin had his back to a stonework podium with a shiny, copper toolbox perched upon it.

The minor shock he felt spiraled into a burgeoning dread.

He knew this room. It was _his_.

The posters, electronics, and personality were missing but the skeleton was certainly there. What was Slade playing at?

"This…this is my room," he announced in disbelief.

Slade didn't look up.

"Of course it is," he replied nonchalantly as he tested the arm's range of motion. "Did you think you would be staying in a cage, little bird?"

Robin ignored the jab and pressed the issue.

"No," he countered, grinding his teeth. "I mean this is exactly like my bedroom back at hom—Titans Tower."

Slade's eye swiveled and stared into Robin's face. It flashed a warning.

"As I said, I've been looking for an apprentice for some time," he explained dismissively, skirting Robin's implication.

"But—"

" _Silence!_ " Slade growled threateningly, making the hairs on Robin's arm stand at attention.

The boy wonder bit down on his cheek to keep from exploding.

Reality was crashing down around him; he watched helpless as the life he had built for himself crumbled piece by piece. It was replaced by a perverted nightmare now, a twisted fantasy. The fierce determination he had started the mission with this morning seemed a lifetime away. How foolish he was to think he could take on Slade alone! Had he learned anything from the Red-X disaster? Or from every previous encounter with Slade? The villain was always, _always_ , ten steps ahead of him. He should have known better.

If he had stuck to the plan, if he had ignored that stupid GPS and went after the Detonator instead...

Regret stung him straight through the chest, hurting worse than any shoulder ever could.

He had gambled and lost it all: his freedom, his friends, his life...

 _Why me?_ Robin wondered miserably. _Why did Slade choose me?_

Guilt turned to anger and he berated himself for asking such a selfish, unhelpful thing. It didn't matter why. This wasn't about _him_ , no matter what Slade said. The justification of a psychopath was worthless. His only concern should be finding a way to save his friends and, with any luck, himself. Until then, he had to come to terms with the fact that he was a prisoner in everything but name.

"Take this," Slade's barked, interrupting Robin's bleak thoughts. "Put it between your teeth."

He held up a chunk of thick leather.

Robin raised his brow.

"Why?" he asked skeptically.

Slade's eye rolled, a swirl of obsidian.

"Such distrust, Robin!" he reproved with feigned hurt. "You're starting to hurt my feelings...and try my patience."

An angry crease formed between Robin's brows as he waited for Slade's self-righteous rant to end. Every stupid word and stupid breath that exited the man's stupid, masked mouth made Robin want to start throwing punches, no matter the consequences.

"It's for the pain, boy," the villain finally clarified. "I know you Titans think you're above such things, but setting a shoulder isn't as fun as it looks. It's going to _hurt_. Quite a bit, actually. And your screams will make it difficult for me to concentrate."

Grumbling, Robin snatched the leather out of Slade's hand just to shut him up. He screwed up his face as he put it in his mouth, pinching it between his molars. It tasted like mildew and old sweat. Revolted, his nose crinkled in disgust.

"Good boy," Slade praised sarcastically before he jerked his chin. "Now go lie down on the bed."

Wary again, Robin hesitated.

"You can go of your own free will or you can be unconscious," Slade offered brightly. "Your choice."

Leather bit in his teeth, Robin rumbled sullenly and slid off the stool. He sauntered to his evilly cloned bed and sat on the edge. He lowered slowly backward, careful to avoid any pressure on his shoulders. Torso laid flat, he then swung his legs up onto the comforter. The mattress springs bounced unhelpfully.

Slade approached and loomed over him, his copper head haloed and his facade masked in shadow. It reminded Robin of a scene out of a old, slasher flick he saw a few weeks ago with Beast Boy and Cyborg.

It had been about a demented surgeon who carried out grotesque experiments on his patients who were paralyzed, but aware, when the good doctor carved into them. The film was horrendously cheesy, with buckets of fake blood, melodramatic acting, and cringe-worthy one-liners. The Titan boys had laughed more than they screamed.

Nonetheless, Robin was beginning to feel a bit more sympathetic for the cliched, teenage heroine whose eyes had bugged out of her skull in a wordless scream when she was strapped to the blood-soaked operating table and prepped for surgery.

Slade cocked his head.

"Put your feet against the wall."

Robin scooted down, inch by inch, cradling his left elbow as he did. When he was close enough, he pressed the heels of his boots into the brick.

"Arm."

Robin released his hold and Slade picked his limp wrist up off his stomach. With one hand, Slade extended the arm and stretched it as far as it would go, palm facing the ground. His other hand rested on Robin's shoulder, as hard and heavy as a rock. The fingers gently curled into the shoulder blade which gave a warning growl at the touch.

"When I count to three, bite down," he ordered as he tightened his grip on the forearm. "And keep still."

"Yeah, I'll try and do that _while my shoulder is being jammed into place!_ " Robin tried to bitterly reply but all that came out of his mouth was a garble of incoherency.

"That's the spirit," Slade muttered under his breath and then asked: "Ready?"

Robin didn't appreciate obvious keenness in Slade's tone, but he took a deep, shaking breath anyway. A tremble of fear warbled up his spine as he readied himself. His grimy forehead prickled with incoming sweat. He clenched a fist at his side, squeezed his eyes shut beneath his torn mask, and nodded once.

"1…2…"

Robin bit down on the leather strip with all his might just as Slade hissed '3' and pulled.

It was fortunate that Slade had a hand on Robin because the boy did not stay still.

The second he felt his arm being yanked, a nauseating, blinding pain shot out from his shoulder. It spread like wildfire to his fingertips, down his back, and up into his scalp. His canines imprinted the leather as spittle flew from his gagged mouth, his eyelids snapped open and wide, and his hips bucked upward, back arching. A mangled, muffled shriek ripped through his throat.

He thrashed and thrashed and thrashed but Slade had him pinned, dead to rights. The darkness that had been camped out on the edges of his vision began to encroach further into his sight. His mind went fuzzy again.

After a few seconds, which felt like several eternities, Slade loosed his hold on the forearm and shifted his grasp to the elbow. He bent it upward and rotated it like a door hinge, playing with the shoulder muscles and socket.

Toes curled, Robin pounded the back of his head into the mattress. He could hear the bones grating.

 _Don't pass out...don't pass out...don't pass out..._

"Once more," Slade announced matter-of-factly and Robin couldn't so much as protest before his arm was straightened and wrenched again.

Slade repeated the process a handful of times until a _pop!_ finally cracked.

By the end, the comforter was stained, smelling of salty tears and perspiration. The pain's roar had quieted to a disquieting throb and Robin faded with it. Physically exhausted and mentally broken, his body slumped, his senses blurred and subdued, and his mind gave into the tantalizing black.

He fell unconscious in the presence of his nemesis.


	5. Chapter 5

Robin slept fitfully.

After being lost to the dark of his unconscious mind for a timeless span, his body suddenly switched back on.

For the fifth time in what felt like only a few minutes of sleep, his lids flew open and he bolted upright, kicking. Damp, tangled hair clung to his forehead. A breathless whimper escaped his lips as his lungs contracted, strained. The imprint of a fanged, gaping maw was burned into the backs of his eyeballs. He still felt its wretched teeth upon him, eating him alive.

The sheets stuck to his sweaty skin. He shoved them away and wiped his face, quivering.

One moment he was lost in the dark, chaotic dream and the next he was wrenched awake by discomfort pricking his arm—an echo of the trauma his shoulder had endured. The tireless struggle between waking and sleeping was made worse by the fact that the nightmares didn't end even after he stirred-out of the maw and into the cage.

Then, there was the pain.

As he flailed, his shoulder complained even more persuasively. Gasping, he winced and cradled his arm close to his bare chest. It had been set, but he wasn't sure if the bones were aware of that fact. It certainly didn't feel like it.

The room was dark but, then again, it was _always_ dark here. He could just make out the ridges in the brick wall that faced him, but not much else. He scowled as his memories flooded back to him. This wasn't his bedroom, his home, it was a prison cell, and the warden who controlled every aspect of his life was Slade. The penalty for escape or disobedience? The quadruple homicide of his adopted family and a lifetime of misery underground.

However, there was no memory for how he got to be in his current state. _That_ particular fact made Robin's stomach curdle and his lips numb.

At some point—while he unconscious—he had been stripped, cleaned, and bandaged. He had no idea how long he'd been passed out, but he refused to care. If he wasn't cognizant, then he wasn't working for Slade, he reasoned.

His left shoulder was bound with linen bandage that wound from his neck to his wrist. It itched and pinched, but he wasn't unfamiliar with its annoying touch. It wasn't his first injury, after all, and it certainly wouldn't be his last.

The open cuts and scratches that ran across his forehead, chin, and cheeks had been sterilized and dressed. In some cases, he felt the tender bump of a stitch. A tepid ice bag was buttressed to his side, kept in place by another set of compresses.

His boots were off; his pinkie toes rubbed against the bedlinen as he sat Indian-style. Shirtless, his destroyed uniform had been replaced with by a single pair of loose, cotton trousers.

A nagging thought wondered just _how_ he came to be re-dressed and cleaned, but he wasn't ready to think about that just yet. He already had enough to repress.

Nevertheless, he suddenly realized that his mask was off. Hand flying to his face, he confirmed it.

Bold as day were the brilliant blues of his irises, the severity of his dark, arched eyebrows, and the small 'L'-shaped scar that marked the bridge of his refined nose.

He buried his exposed face in his palm. He didn't think he could stand much more humiliation and invasion of privacy.

"Of _course_ …" he groaned and swore viciously under his breath.

"That's a filthy habit, young man."

Robin jumped out of his skin and let loose another profanity as Slade flicked on the lamp. He stood beside the bed, his split, copper mask glittering in the faint light.

Breathing hard, Robin curled a lip and yanked the sheets closer. How long had the villain been standing there, watching him? He knew he was a psycho, but did he have to be a pervert?

"Ah-ah-ah," Slade admonished as he ripped the covers back out of Robin's hands. "It's time to get up. Wouldn't want you to be late on your first day."

"What are you talking about?" Robin snapped as he shivered, rubbing his upper arms. "Late for what?"

"Training, dear boy," the villain explained as he walked across the room to round up a pile of clothes from the closet. "Meet me outside the door in five minutes."

"You can't be serious!" the boy wonder cried, forgetting himself. "I can't _train_! Look at me! You're crazy if you think—"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Robin," Slade snapped quietly, looking over his shoulder with a lethal glare. "But didn't you agree to obey my _every_ request?"

A snarl of rage grumbled from the boy's chest. His darkening glower was far more impressive without the mask. The pupils of his eyes contracted as tightly as his knuckles. His jaw looked as if it would shatter if he applied any more pressure to it. A throbbing vein sprung up out of his hairline and his cheekbones popped as he ground his teeth.

"Yes," he managed to spit out, hating himself.

"And did I not make myself _painfully_ clear about what would happen if you broke our deal?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then there is nothing left to discuss," Slade hissed cruelly.

Fire burned in the teenager's heart, spreading throughout his body. He was sure he was going to melt through the bed, through the floor.

"Let me put this in such a way so that even you can understand," the villain continued, gliding back to Robin's bedside. "If you are not outside that door in three minutes and twenty-two seconds, I'm going to make you wish you'd never been born. You think you're in pain now? Dear child, that will be _nothing_ compared to what's in store for you should you even _hesitate_ to carry out my simplest command. I will break you down piece by pathetic piece until you beg for death. And once I'm through with you, I'm going to make you kill your friends, Robin, and I'm going to make you _watch_."

 _Wanna bet?_ Robin thought hostilely even though his insides felt far less confident.

"And even after all that pain," Slade finished in a whisper, dropping a shirt and a pair of pants at Robin's curled feet. "You will _still_ be my apprentice. There's no escaping it, Robin. You're _mine_."

With that, he whipped around and strode out of the room. The door closed behind him with a reverberating, nerve-wrenching clang. Robin slumped back heavily against his pillows. The numbness in his lips had spread to the tips of his toes. An infectious cold was winding its way up his spine, freezing him to the spot.

The clock ticked onward, however, and after that speech, he would be damned—literally—if he wasn't outside that door within the next minute.

" _Shit_ …" Robin cursed as he snatched the clothes up and swung his feet to the carpet.

His hands shook as he stripped, shoved on the pants, and gingerly lowered the shirt over his head. His rib began vying for attention as he raised his arms.

The majority of the pain had dulled to a minor ache, but his neck, back, and sides were still stiff and tender. Dressed, he took a quick glance in the small piece of mirror to make sure the bandages were still in place.

His reflection caught him by surprise. Any bruising had all but disappeared and the handful of lacerations on his cheek were closing up nicely as they shrunk into pale, pink ridges. A sore spot still grumbled from his temple, but the swelling was hidden by his shaggy, unkempt hair. Two long, red slashes marked his forehead but were forming scabs around the stitching.

He must have been unconscious for longer than he imagined. This kind of healing should have taken around a week.

His face peered perplexingly back at him as he ran a finger over where his mask should have been. Being around Slade without it was like going out stark naked. Hell, just not having it on in general was weird, crazed psychopath or no.

 _Like a dog without a collar._

The anger that simmered eternally beneath his skin began to boil as he thought of Slade's bone-chilling threat. If Slade believed he could treat Robin like a beaten dog and get away with it, he would be sorely mistaken. Robin had been somebody's pet once, but never again. He had no use for muzzles or collars or leashes, no matter the handler.

Fingernails digging into palms, the face in the mirror glared murderously back at him, encouraging him to fight. The blues of his eyes darkened into stormy tempests.

"Never again," he repeated to himself in a whisper before jogging out the door, ten seconds to spare.

* * *

"Again."

Drenched in sweat, Robin's head hit the mat with a frustrated grunt. The wooden underside of a balance beam mocked him from above as he lay on his back, trying to regain his breath. Chalk covered his blistered hands and his aching, bare feet were enveloped in wilted athletic tape.

It turned out he was expected to do quite a lot even with his debilitating injuries.

Upon joining Slade, a single piece of fruit and a barf-colored, blended concoction of raw eggs, whey formula, and multi-vitamins were shoved into his hands. Hesitant to eat from the palm of his enemy, his roaring stomach soon got the better of him. Who knew when he would be able to eat again?

Ravenous, he wolfed down every last morsel and drop as he shadowed Slade down the tunnel.

The homemade protein shake was as revolting as it looked and felt like a chainsaw as it worked its way through his intestines.

The training area, as he discovered, was simply a redesign of the atrium where he and Slade had fought previously. Replacing the inky atmosphere was a series of intense columns of light that completely lit up the space. Tilting his chin, he saw a row of fluorescent tubes bolted to the seven-story-high ceiling. He also noticed the entrance was completely repaired, as if he had never tossed a bomb at it. The sight of it gave him an odd twinge of sadness.

The main floor was bigger than he originally thought. Two Titans Tower lounges could fit comfortably within it. Realizing this, it was unnerving to see just how far he had been thrown around on that first, dreadful day at the haunt.

Four stout, iron support beams were nestled in each corner of the room. Together, they buttressed an extensive system of colossal cogwheels and gear-works which appeared to be some sort of power source.

Robin put a hand to his temple absentmindedly as he remembered how his head had smashed into one of those beams. He wondered if it had left a mark on the metal...

The hiss of steam kissed his ears from time to time and he noticed that there were groups of long tables pushed off to the far side. He squinted and saw that many of them had disassembled machinery spilled across them.

The center of the space was occupied with a black, pool-sized mat which Robin recognized from his gymnastic days. A horizontal beam, parallel bars, high bars, still rings, uneven bars, and a pommel horse were positioned upon it with enough space between them in which to comfortably stick a landing.

A mix of panic and relief wrestled inside him, for although he was intensely familiar with the equipment, he was completely unfamiliar with Slade.

"You will take ten minutes to stretch. No more, no less," Slade barked beside him, arms crossed. "Then, you will rotate from event to event in this order: balance beam, still ring, pommel horse. When I have deemed your work satisfactory, we will move onto the next set."

Robin clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides, nostrils flared. He felt like an eight year old again. It was a cruel twist of fate that he had left Gotham in search of independence and still managed to wind up as someone's sidekick slave.

"While I'm still young, Robin."

Snorting like a bull, he stomped forward and plopped onto the mat.

* * *

The first few rotations were exasperating. With only one arm in good condition, his balance was completely thrown off. He fell dozens of times in the first hour alone and his tailbone was beginning to bruise because of it.

It was insanity! It was ludicrous! It was… _infuriating!_

Each exercise required equal shares of upper and lower body strength and a rigid core to boot. At the moment, he lacked two out of the three. If it wasn't his rib cutting off his windpipe, it was his shoulder deadlocking on him.

The whole ordeal was made worse by the fact that Robin had been taught how to walk on a balance beam but appeared to be a complete amateur as he wobbled and flailed and tumbled. What should have been a stroll in the park turned out to be an up-hill battle.

As opposed to the other events—which depended heavily on deltoid strength—he hoped the balance beam would be his saving grace. If he kept it simple and just paced back and forth, he wouldn't aggravate anything; however, that strategy was quickly nixed by Slade. The man demanded the whole nine yards of backflips, split leaps, and walking handstands.

Unsurprisingly, Robin once again found himself becoming very familiar with the black mat.

"I said…" a hiss slithered into Robin's eardrums. " _Again_!"

The tip of Slade's steel-toed boot nudged him in the thigh. Dragging a hand over his sweaty face, Robin stifled an offensive four-letter word and groaned to a sitting position. He grabbed onto the beam and leveraged himself to his sore feet.

His back to Slade's armored chest, Robin heaved himself onto the beam. He swung his leg over it, straddling it like a horse as he readied himself.

"With some effort this time, Robin," Slade suggested haughtily as he stood beside him. "Your performance thus far makes me think that you're actually _trying_ to fail."

"I'm doing the best I can," Robin snapped resignedly, scowling.

"What a horrible liar you are," Slade sneered, shaking his knobbed head. "Just for that, you aren't leaving this room until you get it right. Even if it takes days, weeks. I will not tolerate failure, boy."

Eye twitching, Robin forced a series of deep breaths into his mouth and out through his nose. He was so close to Slade…tantalizingly close. He could already see himself throwing the first hit into the villain's copper cheek, could already feel his knuckles bruising with a throbbing satisfaction.

His fingers twitched and Slade's eye narrowed into a slit.

All it would take was a second of senselessness, a momentary loss of control...

" _I'm going to make you kill your friends, Robin, and I'm going to make you watch."_

The threat rippled to the forefront of his headstrong brain. It took the bite out of his blood and the wind from his sails. Even though the firebrand voice in his head said otherwise, taking on Slade would have to wait. It wasn't just his life on chopping block; his foolhardy recklessness could spell disaster, massacre.

He wouldn't have won, anyway, he told himself dejectedly. Slade was too powerful and he was too weak.

He refocused on the task at hand.

Rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles, he rose to his feet on the balance beam and stood heel to toe. Arms tight at his sides, he released as much tension as he could from his muscles. He inhaled and exhaled, imagined himself as light as a feather, and glared down the barrel of the beam.

Two backflips, one walking handstand, and three back-to-back split leaps—that was the goal. It loomed above him like an impassable mountain.

Was it possible? Maybe. Did he think he could do it? No. Would he have to try anyway? Definitely.

He shifted his weight to his back heel and began.

Letting go of his whirling mind, he pushed off and began with a flip. Head on straight and core collapsed just right, he flew through the air and landed perfectly. Although his rib was grumpy and his shoulder griped, the flips weren't the hard parts. He always had a knack for flying.

The same could be said for the leaps. His legs kicked out like scissors—straight and deadly. He never once stumbled or failed to find his footing after gravity took back control. Aches and pains receding, he cherished the feeling of freedom as he cavorted through the air.

Standing, panting, on the opposite side of the beam, he came to the climactic ending.

He closed his eyes, took another round of breaths, and lurched forward. His chalky fingers snagged the wood and dug in fiercely. Legs rising up behind him, his spine uncurled and straightened, retaining a slight, pliable curve as it flipped direction. A mounting hurt began to electrify his side, creeping into his neck. He ignored it, but it took a good deal of effort.

Toes pointed, he transferred all of his weight into his right arm. He picked up his left hand and replanted it, palm to fingers, ahead of its brother. He blew a dangling, stray hair out of his face. The monkey wrench was next.

He swayed to the left, repeating the process.

Immediately, his shoulder began to lock, to throw his balance. His heart quickened its drumbeat and his wrist quivered as its hold weakened. His legs wavered, threatening to topple him.

"Hold it…" Slade threatened in a murmur. "Keep your arm loose. Focus on your core."

Not caring where the advice came from, Robin followed it and bent his elbow a centimeter. He sucked in a breath. His abdomen tautened and bolstered him, resetting his stance. With a cathartic grunt, he jammed his hand into place in front of the other.

It hadn't been as graceful as he liked, and his day was far from over, but he hadn't fallen. A splutter of relief escaped his lips.

"What did I just say, boy?" Slade barked, unimpressed.

He marched up to Robin and pressed his palm into his stomach. Although he wore his traditional black leather gloves, his touch was still ice-cold. Robin suppressed a shiver.

"Keep your center _tight_ ," the guised man directed, hand clamped on Robin's gut. "Don't let it collapse. Even when you breathe."

Robin nodded. His neck strained and his brow furrowed. He could do this.

With Slade's hand still on him—a physical reminder—he managed to climb all the way to the end of the beam. He left a trail of sweat behind him and his shoulders were beginning to feel like jelly, but he had finally done it. Blisters stung the pockets of his thumbs as he dismounted. His knees bent low as he struggled to remain upright on the mat.

It felt like an earthquake was ripping through him, scrambling his skin. A chilling wave of fatigue cooled the fire of his heart. Nevertheless, a satisfied smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

"What are you waiting for? A medal?" Slade quipped, deflating Robin's brief second of contentment.

Spinning away, the villain took his post at the other end of the beam. His black-sleeved, silver plated arms crossed expectantly.

"Again," came the pitiless command.


	6. Chapter 6

The days began to blur, and so did Robin's memories.

How did Beast Boy tell that knock-knock joke again? He couldn't remember the punchline. It had something to do with policemen and parakeets. And what was the exact shade of green in Starfire's eyes when she charged into battle? He could see them sparkle in the back of his mind—tantalizing and just out of reach.

He used to be able to predict the pauses of Raven's breath when she chanted her infamous, magical phrase, but now he was struggling to find the rhythm. How far did Cyborg's grin stretch across his split face when he bellowed "Boo-yah!"?

They were all fading away, leaving him. His friends were turning into ghosts, hollow recollections.

Robin lay on his bed, his hands behind his head, sprawled. The lamp beside him gave off a faint, eerie light, making the surrounding shadows loom like towering, twisting trees. A half-hearted smile twitched on his lips.

 _Raven would have liked this room…_

A pang of longing struck against his chest like a gong, reverberating through his bones. He swallowed thickly and continued to stare at the cobbled ceiling with a wide, blank stare. He sighed, trying to expel some of the heartache, but it remained unmoved.

The first few days were painful and long, but he had survived them. As expected, Slade was a merciless teacher.

Without windows it was nearly impossible to gauge the positioning of the sun; Robin didn't know how long Slade had forced him to run the gymnastic obstacle course, but it had to have been hours if not an entire day. The only reason he had even been allowed to stop was because he had fainted from overexertion.

He had been on the pommel horse when it happened. One moment, Slade was yapping at him to improve his sloppy, tired form, and the next, his arms were numb and his head was filled with a deafening buzz. He felt his control float away.

The last thing he remembered was the shiny surface of the black gym mat as he collapsed—headfirst—into it.

When he next woke, he was back in his bed and Slade was standing over him, snarling at him to get dressed. Bleary eyed, he complied even though his muscles screamed in agony and begged for rest.

The second day had gone much like the first. The masked villain pushed Robin too far and the boy blacked out. Again, he awoke in his bed. Again, Slade was there, dragging him to his battered feet. Again, he stumbled through training until he repeated step one.

Gaps began to form in his memory. His world was in a constant state of blurriness—bare-bone outlines and shifting shadows. Bruises cropped up, but he couldn't recall where he had gotten them. Each day he was greeted by a new cut in his arm or leg. They leaked red tears and left a crimson trail on his bedlinen, but there was no recollection of their conception. All was haze.

At first, he had tried to keep a tally of the times he was cognizant, but soon lost count around thirty. It was on the ninth conscious "day" when he had managed to complete Slade's savage exercise routine without passing out. Fourteen training sessions later, he had improved enough to move onto the next set which consisted of the bars: uneven, parallel, and high.

By then, his shoulder felt strong—or at least numb—enough to cause him little to no trouble. It wasn't like he had a choice.

He was fed two meals: one in the morning and another one after a few hours of training. His breakfast was routinely sparse, but the second mealtime was better stocked. It was heavy on protein, especially meat—the bloodier the better—and was usually accompanied by a bountiful side of vegetables, fruit, or nuts. Apparently, Slade was not a fan of carbohydrates.

Of course, on some days, Robin received no food at all because of what Slade termed "disobedience." Admittedly, his rebellious and justified anger sometimes did get the better of him. Sometimes he was just too tired or starved to watch what he said or did.

Perhaps he would let loose a jaw-dropping, hair-whitening string of expletives after being told not to, or maybe—when he was feeling on the brink of insanity—he would take a cheap shot at Slade when the man's back was turned.

Suffice it to say this did not end well for the boy wonder. Naturally, Slade was not above corporeal punishment. The consequences were swift and ruthless without causing major injury, but certainly got the point across nonetheless.

Robin took each one of Slade's backhands and sucker punches with poise. He wore the bruises like purple hearts.

He knew that none of his bone-headed quips or minor instances of revolt would change anything, but he couldn't just _sit_ here, doing nothing, as he was sold into slavery. Slade had not yet threatened to arm the Nanoscopic Probes, but it wouldn't be long before he played his ace in the hole to ensure his apprentice's obedience. If Robin could hang onto his spirit and endure the beatings, he could figure out a plan on how to get the trigger out of enemy hands.

He bit his lip at the thought of another night spent here. A sob slithered up into his mouth, squeezing his throat in its coils.

 _You won't make it_ , a voice hissed at him. _You'll never escape. You'll never see your friends again. Give up._

He flipped onto his side and curled his knees to his chest. He glared at the lamp and swallowed his sadness.

 _Slade's going to kill them anyway. You might as well just stop trying._

"Shut up," he whispered, shoving a pillow over his head. "Shut up."

 _They're going to die and it's all your fault! They warned you about Slade. They told you not to go after him alone. And did you listen? No. You wanted to prove yourself. You wanted to prove them wrong. You wanted to prove_ him _wrong. Typical Robin. Always has to play the hero._

"Stop it."

 _And look what happened! You failed and now they're all going to die. You'll be all alone again. No one can save you now._

"You're wrong."

 _Oh really? What would happen if your friends actually found you? They would be dead and gone before they could say "Titans, go!" and you'll still be stuck here. Do you see now? There's no hope for them or for you. You're screwed, kid, and you're in way over your head._

"Leave me alone!" Robin cried and he threw the pillow across the room.

It smacked unsatisfyingly against the opposite wall and slid to the ground. Robin sat on the edge of the bed, fingers curled into the mattress side, panting. He hung his head, unable to bear its horrible burden. His chest felt like it was caving in—an avalanche of sorrow.

The creak of door hinges broke the sad silence. His head snapped up and he quickly wiped his cheeks of any fugitive tears. He jumped to his feet and straightened his shoulders. His hands were stitched to his side, nails digging into his thigh. He kept his eyes down and his expression placid.

Slade's metal head grazed the top of the door frame as he entered into the room. Dressed in his usual dark attire with silver-plated vambraces, shin-guards, and shoulder pads, the villain strode in like a stalking panther. An unspoken threat permeated through the air, stealing courage and planting fear.

Robin could feel his stare upon him like a sudden weight. It kept him pinned in place. Pristine, polished black leather boots shook the ground as they approached. They halted within striking distance away from him. Their steel tips glimmered in Robin's peripheral.

He was familiar with their cold, merciless touch. He still had their imprint on his ribs.

"Good morning, Robin," Slade greeted coolly. "I hope you had pleasant dreams."

Robin nodded at the gray rug, lips stitched.

Slade gave a knowing chuckle and peered over his shoulder at where the pillow still lay, sprawled against the wall.

"Maybe not so pleasant after all…"

Robin flinched and Slade's inky eye flicked back to the black-feathered boy and skewered him.

"Before we get started, I have a gift for you."

Mildly intrigued, but mostly terrified, Robin lifted his chin an inch and gazed up through a curtain of hair. The man held something in his gloved hands. It was thick and made of shining, pristine steel. Squinting, Robin realized it was a collar—a miniature version of the one Slade wore around his tree-trunk neck.

Epiphany plowed into him like a bullet to the temple.

His revealed cobalt eyes widened and his blood began to rush. His muscles twitched. His instincts whispered " _Fly!"_ in his ear.

He kept his head down, but he shifted backward—preparing to run. The edge of the mattress caressed his calf.

"You're skill has improved just as I hoped…" Slade announced softly, his tone accented with lethal arrogance.

He took a menacing step forward, not missing a beat. His unblinking iris remained fixed on Robin's form. The midnight pupil expanded and conquered the murky blue that surrounded it, eclipse.

A crackle of electricity sparked in the atmosphere. The shadows swayed like bloodthirsty savages waiting for a sacrifice. Robin's hand leaned against the brick wall, bracing. The lamp sat unassumingly on its perch next to him.

"…but your attitude leaves something to be desired."

Slade took another step. He was less than a foot away.

Robin's gut lurched. His already pale complexion turned positively ashen. His eyes flicked from the collar in Slade's hand to the door. The pulse in his neck fluttered like a cornered bird.

 _Don't let him touch you. Don't let him touch you. Don't let him touch you._ His mind screamed.

Slade picked up his foot.

Robin grabbed the lamp and threw it. He heard a grunt and everything went dark. The tinkle of shattered glass and plastic was drowned out by Slade's howl of fury. Sidestepping to the right, Robin blindly bolted for the door. Hands out in front of him, he smacked into something coarse and cold. He felt the iron beneath his clawing, searching fingers, but he struggled to find the handle.

"You're going to regret that, Robin."

Slade had stopped swearing and snarling. His breathing had gone still and undetectable. Robin's fumbling, panicking hands finally found the knob. He twisted it and gave a great yank, his heart in his throat.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, but met the same result. The door bolt screeched, laughing at his failure.

"No…no… _no_!" he cried, throwing his body against the unmoving iron.

In the miserable pitch-black, a bodiless claw snaked out of the deep shadows and wrapped around Robin's neck. He gave a breathless gasp as he was yanked backward and up, feet kicking.

Then, he was flying. He soared for a second and made painful impact with something wooden. Air left his lungs. Whatever he hit groaned and splintered beneath him, pricking his skin.

"See, this is what I'm talking about."

Slade's disembodied voice came from right behind him. He flipped, trying to avoid the incoming slaughter. Too late, something latched onto his hair and threw him to the ground. His bones groaned. He tried to crawl.

"I give you food, I give you shelter, I _train_ you, and yet you refuse to show me an ounce of gratitude."

Slade frostbitten nails dug into Robin's scalp and pulled. He dragged the writhing boy across the floor, flung open the door, and tossed him into the hall. Robin's head skidded against the cobbled, weathered stones. His lip opened up and bled, leaving burgundy breadcrumbs.

Dazed, spots danced in his sight. He scrambled to his feet and promptly tripped. His knees and palms split. When he tried to stand again, Slade was already upon him.

He slammed Robin into the curved, tunnel wall, an elbow pressed into his trachea. He stomped on the boy's bare foot, snapping toes. Robin screamed.

"I even spared your worthless friends' lives," Slade continued, his tone utterly and uncannily calm. "And what do I get?"

He applied more pressure, cutting off the windpipe. Robin's cries turned to croaks.

" _Insolence_!"

Releasing his chokehold, he then threw a punch. Robin collapsed to all fours, gasping and clutching his swollen cheek. The world tilted and spun.

"I'm not a fool, Robin," Slade said as he crouched to the ground. "I knew your obedience wouldn't come easy. Wild things like you are difficult to catch but are even harder to break. Your freedom is your most treasured possession…or _was_ , at least."

The villain's words spoke truth and a bestial, primal need to defend the last vestiges of what little autonomy he had erupted through him like a stampede of stallions. Roaring, Robin lashed out, wanting to tear and rip and maim. His surging fist was caught a foot from Slade's metal chin. Before he could try anything with his other hand, Slade had his wrists pinned to the ground above his thrashing head.

"Fortunately, I have a solution for both our problems."

With one, last mangled shriek, Robin raged against Slade's grasp.

Slade gave a wicked chortle before he smashed his copper forehead into Robin's skull. The boy wonder went limp instantly and a crumpled, defeated sigh escaped his bloodied mouth. His mind faded into the familiar black. The roar of his spirit drowned in its inky waters.

* * *

Robin opened his eyes to a low-hanging brick ceiling. He was accustomed to the sight, but not the light that illuminated its façade, revealing all the hues of dark red, brown, and black.

Intrigued, he was positive that he was back in his bed. His head was smooshed against a pillow and his heels dug into a mattress. His hands were curled in sleepy fists on his stomach. His usual navy blue comforter bid him good morning.

As he made a move to sit up, a jabbing throb split across his cranium. He groaned and lay back down, rubbing his brow with a thumb.

His brain pulsed unpleasantly, as if it wanted to break free from its bone prison.

He knew how it felt.

A bundle of other pains made themselves known as he stirred. His toes ached and his lip stung. A string of bruises looped around his Adam's apple like a bowtie. His rib voiced its usual grievance and then some.

He felt beat-up and groggy but altogether whole. He was used to the ache of concussions and contusions by now. Memories came slow, but he remembered being frightened out of his wits as something chased him in the dark. He dismissed it as the last lingers of a nightmare.

However, there was something new about today that nagged at him.

In addition to the pain and amnesia, there was an odd sensation coming from his collarbone. Something cold and heavy sat on his neck, pinching it in a frigid noose. Confused, he lifted a hand to remove it. His probing fingers hit smooth, solid steel.

It wrapped all the way around his throat and spread from shoulder to shoulder in a wide arc.

"What the hell…?" he pondered aloud.

Ignoring his pounding skull, he slid off the bed and shambled to the small mirror. A new lamp sat on his bedside table. It was larger, and it was bolted into the rock. Another light source blared from behind him, but he found himself caring less and less about his new furnishings the moment he saw his reflection.

Like an Egyptian pharaoh's collar, Robin's entire neckline and part of his upper torso was covered by silver-steel choker. Slade's trademark 'S' was carved down the front of it—a dog tag, a master's brand.

The glittering, gaudy adornment sparkled boldly against his bare chest, reminding him in every way, shape, and form of his involuntary servitude.

Immediately he tugged at it, tried to pull it off, but it was cinched too tightly and the material was far too dense. His nails broke against the stubborn metal.

That was when he saw the bracelets.

Made of the same substance and welded just as securely to his skin, the newfound additions had the appearance of shackles without chains. Two more 'S's were chiseled on the insides of the wrists.

Stunned, there was now no question of who he was, who he belonged to.

 _No escape._

A tear sped from the corner of his eye. His brave front cracked.

 _You lose!_ the same cruel voice cackled in his head. _Sing, pretty bird! Sing!_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Warning—Language. Also, thanks for reading and reviewing!**

* * *

A bird chirped unhappily from its cage.

It hopped from perch to perch, wings fluttering wildly, as it tried to escape through the warped metal bars. Its plumes burned vividly in the gloom—bright red and shimmering gray. White accents streaked through the charcoal feathers like bolts of lightning.

Shadows surrounded the birdcage, inching closer. Misty claws reached out, ready to strangle the helpless creature.

The shrill tweets of fright became shouts—a boy's.

"Someone help! Anyone! Please!" he cried through his beak. "Help me! Help me! HELP!"

Raven gasped and bolted upright.

Her indigo blanket catapulted off the bed and dropped to the floor, leaving her unprotected in the morning chill. Pulling her knees to her chest, she put her head in her hands. Her shoulders trembled as she tried to shake off the nightmare.

It had been so real.

She could still feel the bird's small, beating heart as it thrummed like thunder in her head. She could still sense the presence of nefarious shadows as they closed in all around.

She could still hear the screams—Robin's screams. They deafened her ears and turned her blood to ice. Robin never screamed like that. She didn't even think it was possible for him to make such an awful sound.

With a gnawing, burgeoning dread, she wondered if her dream was actually a dream at all. It was not unusual for the Empath to receive visions, prophetic or otherwise.

Of course, this was not her first reverie about her missing team leader. Ever since he disappeared a month ago, Robin had never strayed from her—or anyone else's—thoughts.

Tirelessly, the team had searched for him.

They checked the docks, abandoned warehouses, vacant lots, hidden bunkers, under rocks—the usual suspects. They found nothing except dead-ends. Cyborg tracked Robin's last known whereabouts to the sewers, but there the trail went cold. Water and rubble had destroyed any possible footprints and the heat signature was a corpse.

The team feared the worst.

What if he was trapped underneath piles and piles of rubble somewhere deep in the tunnel system? What if Slade had gotten to him and was doing goddess-knew-what to the Titans leader? What if something completely random and unforeseen had occurred and Robin was worlds away, in a parallel dimension? Stranger things had happened.

During the first few days of Robin's mysterious absence, Beast Boy had been convinced that alien abduction was afoot. Raven had let the green-skinned changeling know _exactly_ what she thought of his theory and he hadn't brought up extra-terrestrials since.

Thankfully, the rest of the gang knew that Slade was the logical culprit. The Chronoton Detonator fake-out was undoubtedly his doing. It followed that the subsequent Robin kidnapping was his as well.

Unfortunately, there was no way of concretely proving this hypothesis. If Slade was behind Robin's disappearance, he had staged his criminal performance well. The sewer system was massive and hilariously complex. It weaved together with archaic subway lines, speak-easy getaways, mines, and a host of other unfinished building projects. To make matters worse, Robin's communicator remained as silent as the grave and his locator was just as lifeless.

It was if he had been swallowed whole—gone without a trace.

 _We may never find him_ , Raven thought sadly.

The hopeless feeling surprised her. How could she even contemplate such a thing? Robin needed her!

Shaking her head and stifling her idiotic emotions, she hopped out of bed with a huff and decided to get a start on the day. What good would it do anyone to sit here pining and biting her fingernails? Stomping to a redwood dresser, she yanked open the top drawer with a bit more force than necessary and ended up decapitating the handle.

Muttering dark curses, she tossed the brittle piece of metal to the floor and snatched a piece of clothing from the open drawer. Not bothering to shut it, she marched over to her closet and tore down another article from its perch on the hanger.

Still mumbling, she dressed in her trademark violet-blue cloak and black leotard.

Candles of incense burned softly in the gray light of dawn. The familiar smell of sage and sandalwood eased Raven's worn nerves and calmed the tempest wreaking havoc in her mind. She stopped her furious murmurs and went quiet. She steadied her breath. Her fingers slowed as they fastened her cowl around her shoulders.

She had to remain calm. If the team saw her like this...

Before she could finish that macabre thought, Raven paused, took a great gulp of air, and exhaled.

They _wouldn't_ see her like this. Ever.

Molding her face into its usual monotone, she continued getting ready.

Mason jars filled with odd—and sometimes frightening—ingredients cluttered her shelves. The glass sparkled as the sun crept over the horizon.

Eccentric, demonic figurines stood sentry about the room. Their glittering, black eyes held a hellish warning for any would-be intruder.

The distinct aura of witchcraft hung in the air like an invisible, magical weight, waiting on her command, crackling on her fingertips. It begged for release. Sighing, she instead bent over and retrieved her discarded bed covers from the floor. A heavy leather-bound book toppled from the tangle of blankets and crashed into the soft, burgundy carpet with a resounding _thump_.

She sighed again and decided that it was time for a very large, very strong, mug of herbal tea. The morning was, indeed, very late.

As the sun began to peek brightly in through the dusty window, Raven waved her hand in disdain. At her magical behest, the velvet curtains snapped shut and the room was shrouded in gloom once more.

With a long frown, Raven strapped on her bejeweled belt and ran a comb through her chin-length, lavender hair. Shoving on her worn boots, she threw a hood over her pallid face and floated out the door.

A chilly breeze splashed her face and woke up her senses as her bedroom panels shut softly behind her.

The Tower was unusually silent and still. Raven could smell no bacon—vegetarian or otherwise—and could hear no annoying banter emanating from down the hall.

And for once, the peace and quiet only deepened her melancholy. She wrapped her arms around her chest and let her cloak conceal her form from view. Then, with steps as noiseless as cat paws, she drifted toward the lounge with large, sad eyes.

It seemed the others had not woken yet or had never managed to fall asleep. Worry-ridden insomnia was common these days—especially for Starfire. The alien warrior with the scarlet hair was far less vibrant than her typical perky self.

Her inner fire had dimmed to a flickering ember. Guilt and fear circled above her head like eager vultures, ready to pick her spirit clean. She never said more than a few somber words each day and she was usually seen clutching her communicator close to her chest like a talisman, refusing to believe that it was useless.

Even now, Raven could sense her down the hall. Starfire was still awake, lying miserably in the dark.

The entrance to the main operations room came into view and Raven paused before the gray-trimmed frames. She raised her chin to the ceiling and sent a flicker of longing into the sky beyond.

"Hold on, Robin..." Raven whispered to the walls, hoping beyond hope that her friend would return to her safe and sound.

* * *

When Slade entered his bedroom, Robin remained seated and still.

He gazed at nothing, thought of nothing. Waves upon waves of bitter sorrow flooded his veins and seeped into every crack of his countenance. His eyes were perpetually filled with unshed, stinging tears, but he refused to release them. Crushed, he leaned the back of his head against the mattress as he sat on the floor. His limbs were limp and splayed like a lifeless doll. Neck bending backward, the collar dug into his skin, chaffing it.

His nails were bloody and torn, half of them broken off completely. Splotches of red streaked across the back of his hands. He had scratched and clawed until his fingers were swollen pieces of meat. It did no good. The new embellishments were practically nailed to his flesh.

When Slade finally turned to him, Robin's dead-eyed stare swerved upward but he stayed planted to the ground. He no longer cared about the consequences. Things were only going to get worse, he told himself. So why try? For once, he just wanted to be selfish and ignorant.

"Get up."

Robin glared.

"Or what?" he retorted apathetically. "You'll kill me? You'll kill my friends? You'll kill everyone I ever looked at? Fine. Go ahead. I won't stop you."

Slade rolled his eye.

 _Teenagers_ , he thought with a sigh.

"Come now, Robin," he said with an accent of amusement. "Acting like a spoiled, melodramatic brat is beneath you."

A small spark of furious red seeped into Robin's wane cheeks. His sore fingers jerked.

"I'd rather be a spoiled, melodramatic brat than your _slave_!" he snapped with a sneer.

Unperturbed, Slade chuckled softly at the boy's petulance. He shook his knobbed head and clicked his tongue.

"You wound me, apprentice."

Robin's nostrils flared.

"Don't call me that."

"But that's exactly what you are, dear boy," Slade said, his deathly quiet voice raising the hairs on Robin's arms.

The villain took a step closer and crouched.

"You can fight it all you want, but no matter what you say, no matter where you go, no matter how much you struggle, there is nothing you can do to change it. What's done is done, Robin. _Accept it_."

"Fuck you, Slade," Robin spat.

"Now you're just being rude."

Fast as lightning, the masked man had the teen's chin in an iron grip. He wrenched it forward, forcing the boy face him.

"Don't make threats you can't follow through on," he hissed as Robin squirmed in his clasp. "You said you wouldn't 'stop me' if I slaughtered everyone you've ever known? Dear child, what makes you think you ever had a chance at _stopping_ me? Have you learned nothing from our time together? The only reason you and your friends still breathe is because I've _allowed_ it. But no longer, Robin."

Unable to move his jaw, the obstinate boy wonder kept his glower intact.

Slade merely tightened his vice and yanked Robin's head to the side to get a better look at his handiwork.

"This is more than just a fashion statement," he explained as he brushed away a bloodstain with his thumb. "I implanted several microchips into your nervous system while you were unconscious. They keep the collar _and_ the bands fused to your body, making them impossible to remove...but that's only part of the fun."

A sickening wave of fear stampeded into Robin's veins and, before he could react, Slade leaned back and jabbed a finger into a hidden control beneath his right vambrace. Instantly, spikes of shocking pain crackled from the crown of Robin's head to the bottoms of his feet. His arms and legs bent grotesquely, inhumanly. His heart doubled its speed, galloping wildly in his chest. The familiar feeling of scorching electricity sizzled up and down his spine like a livewire.

He smelled burning hair—his.

As quickly as it came, it stopped, and Robin was left twitching and shaking. He could still taste sparks dancing on his tongue, through his teeth. He saw double—two Slades. He wrapped his arms around himself as he tried to keep his skin from splitting. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled into himself.

Slade was not done.

"Then, there's _this,_ " he bragged evilly, his inky eye flashing with cold arrogance.

Still recovering from the electrocution, Robin couldn't even pray for mercy as Slade revealed his next unwanted surprise.

 _Click!_

His mind was suddenly engulfed by a thick, paralyzing fog. All feeling and sensation went numb. A murky haze of dizzying black veiled his thoughts. His lids flew back open and his eyes widened in a petrified, dumbfounded stare. His jaw went slack and his arms sunk to the ground, head lolling. It was if he was looking though a dark glass, a distorted kaleidoscope.

 _Click!_

Immediately, Robin's back straightened and his head lifted as if pulled up by an invisible string. A stranger in his skin, he could only watch as his arms and legs took on a life of their own.

 _Click!_ He stood up. _Click!_ He walked forward. _Click!_ He turned. _Click!_ He walked backward. _Click!_ He turned again.

He knew he was moving but he couldn't feel his toes, his legs, his hips, anything! With each horrible press of the button, his stomach gave a stab of revulsion as it fought against Slade's parasitic control.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" he tried to bellow, but no words came out.

Not even his lips twitched.

His pirated body made a few more turns about the room before Slade released him. One final _click!_ pierced the air. Feeling and sense came back to him like a battering ram. He gave a great, shuttering gasp and collapsed to all fours. It was too much, too fast.

He retched.

Bitter, burning bile flooded the floor in front of him and splashed onto Slade's boots.

"Charming," the villain mused as he kicked off the sick with unnerving nonchalance.

He cocked his head and watched with disquieting calm as the teen regained his composure—or at least stopped gagging. After a few more rounds of burning coughs and pained gasps, Robin peered upward. His flesh was a sickly, pallid green, his wide eyes were bloodshot, and his trembling mouth was smeared with polluted drool.

"W-w-what did you do to me?" he stammered in a hoarse whisper.

"Only what you deserved," Slade responded shortly. "As I said, your attitude left something to be desired. So, I _fixed_ it."

Horror danced in Robin's brilliant blue irises. They began to sparkle like a river ready to flood. He hadn't realized that he had been holding onto hope until he felt it slip from between his fingers. It left a void, a bottomless hole, in the pit of his heart.

"No...no...you didn't...you _can't_!" he croaked.

Slade gave him a withering stare.

"I did."

At that moment, the Titan leader lost all pretense of bravery. He didn't want to be a hero anymore; he didn't want to be _Robin_. For the first time in many years, he felt small and horribly young. After all, he was just a kid—barely sixteen. This world was too big—too hideously big—for him to take on alone.

It had taken weeks, but his pride had finally died. And so, he begged.

Putting his clammy forehead to the stained, wet rug, he pleaded for the impossible.

"I'll do anything you want," he said in a hollow monotone.

"I already have everything I want," Slade replied, unimpressed.

"I'll do whatever you say."

"How endearingly pointless."

"I'll never try to escape."

"Again, pointless."

"I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"Such as?"

Robin's shoulders slumped. He closed his eyes.

"My name?" he offered. "My _real_ one?"

Slade chuckled.

"Please," he scoffed. "I've known your 'secret' identity for years now, _Richard_. Or should I call you Dick?"

Robin shot off from the putrid ground. In mad desperation, he yanked on the anchored collar.

"Tell me what you want and I'll do it!" he exclaimed. "Just get this thing off me!"

"You have nothing left _to_ offer me, boy," Slade hissed as he leaned forward and tapped on the choker with a cruel nail. "This ensures that."

Underscoring that point, Slade turned on a heel and sauntered dismissively toward the door. Hand on the handle, he peered back at the despairing teen over his broad shoulder.

"Strike three, Dick," the villain said and Robin flinched at the sound of his name. "Disobey me again and Titans Tower becomes a tombstone and you become a murderer. Good night."

The door snapped closed. The bolt clicked. Slade's footsteps faded away.

Robin lowered his hands to his sides and bowed his head.

There had always been a last minute rescue, a buzzer-beater, a Hail Mary, a way out. As both a sidekick and a team leader, he couldn't remember the last time when he hadn't been able to escape a deathtrap or thwart a criminal's best-laid plans.

Slowly, painfully, a mounting turmoil shimmied up his windpipe.

He was going to die down here. He was going to be in Slade's cage for the rest of his life.

Something in his soul cracked, splintered, and broke.

He opened his mouth as far as it would go and screamed. His lungs emptied. He screamed again and crumpled to the ground, rocking on his toes.

"Someone help me! Anyone! Please!" he howled at the hidden sky. "Help me! Help me! HELP!"

But no one came. No one answered. Nothing happened.

Anguished, he beat his fists on the vomit-tainted floor. The shackles on his wrists indented his skin and bruised his bones. More than ever, he wanted them gone. He threw all his strength into ripping them off. Nothing happened.

He tried to tear the damned collar from his neck once more. His bloodied, battered fingers throbbed. Each torn nail and bruised knuckle only fueled his senseless rage. It did no good. It wouldn't come off. Nothing happened.

He writhed. He flailed. He thrashed. Nothing happened.

The restraints remained—immovable objects, permanent stains.

He panted and spat. His eye caught the desk. He surged across the room and began to dismantle it—punching, kicking, stomping. Pieces of wood splattered the floor, tore up his hands and arms. His mangled palms were covered in splinters, stripes of angry red.

More tear-jerking, chest-crushing shrieks escaped him as he worked. He was too weak to swallow them anymore. His wolfish cries reverberated down the hall, echoing throughout the underground lair like mournful poltergeists.

Amidst the chorus of wails, Slade smirked beneath his metallic mask.

He whistled as he strode down the haunted passageway.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey all! While this is a shorter update, I did also revise Chapter 7 a bit. Thanks for reading and enjoy! :)**

* * *

 _Two Weeks Later_

The clock beeped 3 a.m. at Titans Tower just as the sirens began to wail.

Raven—who was curled protectively around her pillow—woke with a gasp, practically choking on her sheets. Fumbling, she unfurled herself gracelessly from her circular bed and flew around the room, throwing on her uniform. She was still strapping on her boots as she bolted out the door.

The hallway was alight with a violent red tint as the alarms toiled. The shadows pirouetted madly on the walls, chasing their tails. Raven could hear frantic yells as she ran.

"Go! Go! Go!" Cyborg chanted from somewhere. "This isn't a drill, people!"

Several loud thumps echoed in between the siren squeals as Cyborg pounded on Beast Boy's door. Raven rolled her eyes. How the shape-shifting annoyance managed to sleep through the deafening noise, the Empath had no idea.

"Yo, BB! Move your ass!"

"Huh? Hey! What's goin' on?!" came Beast Boy's confused squeak.

"What do you think?!" Cyborg bellowed back. "We got a mission!"

This only elicited more sleepy whines from the changeling and Raven was quite sure that Cyborg would have to drag the boy kicking and screaming from his room.

Amidst this stupid chaos, Starfire had emerged quietly from her quarters and had caught up to Raven. In an uncanny twist of character, she floated gloomily beside the gothic girl as the two entered the lounge together.

Dashing to the controls, the girls soon had the raging distress signal switched off and were mapping out the fastest route to where the trouble was taking place.

It was a robbery at Wayne Enterprises—the second one in two months. Raven and Starfire glanced weightily at each other.

Not only was the site a favorite target of Slade, but the last person who had attempted to steal from there was none other than Robin—disguised, of course, as Red-X.

As the resident pessimist, Raven was wary to jump so quickly to conclusions. Starfire, on the other hand, was not known for such caution. She put a heavy hand on Raven's shoulder and squeezed. Her viridescent eyes glittered, spurred to life, as she searched her friend's hidden face for a flicker of hope.

"Could it be…?"

Cyborg and Beast Boy cut off Starfire's words as they sprinted noisily in. The alien quickly released Raven and turned back to the mainframe computer. A scarlet curtain of hair blocked her expression from view as she fiddled with the controls but Raven could sense her turmoil. A sympathetic frown tugged at the Empath's lips and she prayed to any god that would listen for Robin's speedy homecoming.

Oblivious, the boys were still bickering as they came onto the scene.

"…for the last time: I. Don't. Have. Rabies! JEESH."

"You cannot tell me that _THIS_ …" Cyborg waved his organic hand in Beast Boy's face. "…looks normal. IT'S TURNING GREEN!"

"Dude, I have _green_ skin and _green_ hair and _green_ blood!" the shape-shifter responded as he swatted Cyborg away. "It's probably just spit!"

Testing this theory, Cyborg tentatively wiped his swollen, bitten palm on his steel chest cavity. For once, Beast Boy was right.

"AH, MAN! YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR THIS!" Cyborg screeched as he ran for the sink.

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT!" Beast Boy challenged hotly, shaking his fist. "IF YOU HADN'T TRIED TO _KILL_ ME, THEN I WOULDN'T HAVE HAD TO BITE YOU!"

"I WAS _TRYING_ TO WAKE YOU UP!"

"COULDA FOOLED ME!"

" _Quiet_!"

Raven's snarl immediately settled the foolish conflict. Beast Boy gulped and Cyborg's mismatched face paled as the odd pair took in her furious expression. Her violet eyes had turned a brilliant red and sparkled dangerously from beneath the cowl. Fangs began to extend over her bowstring lips. Her shadow grew long and sprouted horns.

"The coordinates have been downloaded into all of your locators," she whispered scathingly, sparks flying from her mouth. " _Move. Out_. _Now_."

Beast Boy and Cyborg sprinted out of the room—in the former's case, literally—with their tails between their legs.

Raven and Starfire, on the other hand, trotted side-by-side as they followed the boys, small grins stretching. A newfound optimism was singing a siren song as the Titans responded to the break-in. What if this was the development they had been waiting for? It couldn't be coincidence, right?

Even still, as the Titans careened through the moonlit sky, Raven couldn't help but remember her nightmare.

A small, sad voice whispered to her:

 _"Too late."_


	9. Chapter 9

_A week earlier._

"Sloppy."

As was his way, Slade stood with arms crossed and glared typically at his apprentice. Having just been electrocuted, Robin lay flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him and stars dancing across his sight. Echoes of electric embers sizzled on his skin.

Every heave of his chest was met with a pinch from the aggravating collar and there was an unpleasantly loud pulse beating against the restraints on his wrists.

Although hidden beneath the monstrous thing, Robin's neck was painted in a myriad of bruises and welts. Dark purples and sickly yellows peeked from the neckline and spread up his Adam's apple and down his sternum. Perpetual rings of angry red ran around his throat and forearms—another gift from the shackles.

"Again," Slade barked, looming over Robin.

Despite the horror, the boy merely shook his dark head and ran a hand over his tired face. After a week of constant electric shock, he was used to the gut-twisting, spine-numbing sensation and stalling Slade would only earn him another 40 volts of pain.

He pressed his heels into the mat as he made to get back up, swallowing the groan that threatened to escape his charred lips.

Robin had graduated from the gymnastic course and had moved onto hand-to-hand combat. The atrium had been cleared of bars, pommel horses, and beams and was now littered with weapons and other dangerous gadgets.

A wooden rack of bo-staffs leaned against the far wall while training automatons hung lifelessly from the ceiling. Their robotic bodies swung disturbingly above his head, ready to crash down upon him at Slade's behest.

The atmosphere was unusually dim today—even for the haunt—and he was having trouble finding his targets and minding his toes. Even worse, every time he threw a punch or feinted or blocked, he could feel the restraints digging into his skin, restricting his full range of motion.

Slade, of course, had little sympathy for such trivial complaints. His apprentice would just have to get used to the new additions unless he wanted to be a lightning rod for the rest of his days below ground.

Robin, meanwhile, still had no idea what the villain expected him to do, but he dreaded the day when he finally found out. What if Slade wanted him to hurt someone? Or worse, kill? What if he never escaped this place? What would he become? _Who_ would he become?

His haunted blue eyes glanced up at the black-and-copper mask as he got to his feet. He suppressed a shudder.

His hands and arms still bore the scars from his crazed tantrum, a plethora of scabs. His room was a different story. The shattered remains of his desk and worktable had been cleared out, but Slade had not replaced his destroyed furniture. He had merely flayed the skin from the boy's body and revoked his nighttime bathroom privileges for the foreseeable future.

Indeed, it was probably for the best that Robin didn't have anything breakable near him right now.

The horrible rage and pain that he had felt when he had first found out about the shackles had dimmed to a hollow ache in his chest. Likewise, a bit more of his spirit had withered away. He found himself resisting less and less as the days bled together. There was only so much a human being could stand.

Although terrible in every sense of the word, Slade's gift didn't change anything. The boy wonder's objectives were still the same: find a way to save his friends—preferably before he lost his mind.

Yet no matter how much he racked his brain, he couldn't think of any suitable plan of action. The collar may not have transformed the game, but it had definitely decreased his odds of winning it. How was he supposed to fight Slade _and_ himself?

 _That's just it,_ a dark voice snapped at him. _You_ can't _. Face it, kid. You lost._

Smothering his maddening pessimism, he refocused his thoughts on the task before him and began to stretch as he readied himself for the next round. Slade watched calmly, eerily, from the sideline and Robin tried to ignore the weight of the villain's familiar stare as he touched his toes and rotated his shoulders.

His hands and feet were dressed in the usual linen compresses but they were quickly disintegrating after the last few hours of sparring. He tried to adjust the bindings back into place as best he could, but they refused to stick properly to his sweaty skin.

His ribs were all but healed or, at least, not a nuisance any longer; he could breathe without impediment again. The blisters he had gotten from the first few days had finally hardened into thick-skinned calluses and while much of his body was still covered in scrapes and varying shades of black and blue, Robin was—for the most part—whole. The electric shocks took the air from his lungs and rattled his nervous system, but Slade never fried him long enough to cause any permanent damage.

He ripped off the athletic tape with a scowl and decided to try his luck with bare knuckles.

"Are you done preening or should I get you a mirror, pretty bird?" Slade quipped.

Robin snatched his bo-staff off the ground in response and made a show of twirling it with masterful ease before aiming it at his opponent.

Slowly, methodically, the villain unsheathed his own weapon and held it in a quiet grip at his side. His stature appeared unruffled—practically serene—but Robin knew Slade's game by now. A lightning-fast serpent lurked beneath the rigid façade.

Knees supple and strong, Robin dug his battle-worn toes into the plastic mat. A small thrill trickled up his spine as he awaited the inevitable. Talons versus fangs, the two faced off once more, but Robin knew his serpentine partner wouldn't play fair.

A heavy hush settled, stealing sound and stoking suspense.

Robin didn't have to wait long. Slade struck first—hard and true. His weapon was a silver blur, whistling through the air. It would have sent the boy wonder flying backward, but instead, Robin stood his ground and the staves clashed, clanging.

Slade applied a mounting pressure, but Robin held firm. His arms shook alarmingly but his stance remained sound, rooted. Quick to the chase, Slade pushed off and swiped at Robin's feet, trying to upend him.

Again, Robin blocked him. The force jangled his bones.

A droplet of sweat sped down his temple and his jet-black hair clung to his forehead. After another long moment, a grudging flash of approval glittered across Slade's eye before he leapt backward—disappearing into the deep shadows.

Robin didn't pursue. He lowered his head and held his bo-staff evenly, trying to keep his breath even and mind clear. His foe came from the left. He pivoted out of Slade's reach. A sparkle of steel came for his head. He bent over backwards and felt a breeze caress his cheek. The staff had just missed him.

Per usual, the fight became one-sided, but unlike all the other times, Slade hadn't managed to land a single hit on his apprentice.

The villain jeered and scoffed at Robin's supposed cowardice, trying to bait him into doing something stupid. He called him all sorts of horrible names, but the boy remained quiet and untouchable. He refused to fall for the same old traps; his hot head had gotten him into enough trouble.

The two danced the same deadly waltz for an hour. A month ago, Robin would have been dead on his feet and, indeed, he was having a hard time feeling his toes, but the uncomfortable sensation was not new. Even if he couldn't feel the ground, he trusted that his body still knew how to leap and land.

At one point, Slade grew weary of Robin's inaction and decided to force his hand by sending a battalion of robots his way. Robin took them all down with relative ease, but had no more stamina left when his master came to finish the job.

He soon found himself on the floor again. Defeated, he waited for the electrocution, but it never came.

"Better," Slade commended gruffly, sheathing his weapon. "You're almost ready.""

Robin grunted to a sitting position.

"Ready for what?" he asked, ruffling his sweaty hair.

"Your first mission, of course."

Any color left in his pallid face soon drained away into a sheet of bloodless white. His hands began to quake.

Slade gave a happy sigh.

"I'll go get the scissors."

* * *

 _Presently_

A black cloud crept across the full moon on spider's legs.

A crow squawked to the evening sky and a chorus of caws responded to his cry.

A rat scurried down below in an alleyway as it scoured the ground for crumbs.

The Wayne Enterprises neon sign blared boldly in the dark, buzzing and whirring. It perched upon a skyscraper that stood shoulder-to-shoulder with equally intimidating neighbors. Together, the buildings formed a massive wall of glass windows, steel skeletons, and concrete rooftops.

Jump City's residents may have been asleep, but the night was still alive and young—especially at Wayne Enterprises.

A bone-rattling alarm whined within its corporate walls, catching the thief inside off-guard. Cloaked in black, he swore under his breath and snatched the object of his desire from the cracked safe.

"Code Red! Code Red! Level 13 has been compromised!"

The thief spun around and cursed again.

One of the sentries he had downed earlier was conscious once more…and he was tattling. Rottweiler barks and policemen footfalls could be heard in the distance.

No time to waste, the thief dashed through the open door, giving a swift, brutal kick to the babbling security guard on his way out. The man stopped talking as his helmeted head smashed into the wall, making a ruckus.

The incoming footsteps picked up the pace, the dogs howled, but the thief was gone by the time they reached the thirteenth floor. All that the watchmen could find was shattered glass and a dislodged ventilation grate.

"He's goin' for the roof!"

Indeed, he was.

Against the humming, blinding backdrop of the Wayne Enterprises sign, the thief punched through another vent and leapt onto the rooftop. Crouched like a cat, he looked side-to-side before continuing his escape.

As he dashed for the edge, he reached for his thick, silver utility belt; however, before he could snatch a gadget from it, a battle-cry pierced the air from behind.

Pausing, he peered over his shoulder.

A half-teen, half-robot was surging toward him, his mighty, mechanical fist raised.

A green cheetah was hot on the cyborg's heels, a growl rumbling from his spotted chest.

A beautiful girl was floating behind the pair, her exotic eyes and clenched fists blazed with emerald flames.

Finally, a cloaked figure stood off to the side. Unlike the others, she did not glare at the thief with determined hatred but with shock. Dark, magical shadows sprouted from her like starlit wings.

She opened her mouth to speak. The thief bolted. He didn't want to hear what she had to say.

"Freeze!"

"Halt!"

"Wait!"

He grabbed his grappling gun from his girdle, pointed it at the nearest rooftop, and fired. A twisting wire shot out and its hook snagged the edge of the neighboring building with a solid clank. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to make his grand escape just yet. The untimely arrival of the Titans had slowed his timetable.

He wrapped his end of the rope around a nearby pipe and turned to face his opponents.

As soon as he did, the cheetah pounced.

The thief swerved expertly out of the way before the claws could rend him, but it cost him his anonymity as he side-stepped into the neon light.

As expected, everything froze. The green cheetah skidded to a halt and transformed into a scrawny, gangly preteen with equally vibrant skin. His young face was slack with astonishment. The cyborg slowly lowered his arm and unclenched his fist. He wore a similar expression to his emerald-colored friend.

"Robin?!" Starfire gasped.

Her furious, flaming eyes immediately dimmed. She landed on the concrete with wobbling legs as she gazed in disbelief upon her no longer missing leader. Even from where he stood, Robin could see the hurt as clear as daylight on her face.

" _Not a word, Robin_ ," Slade's voice hissed in his ear through an unseen transmission. " _They're not your friends, anymore._ "

The rock in his stomach grew heavier. He swallowed his tongue and clenched his teeth in a sneer. The Titans kept their distance, hardly believing.

"Dude, Robin!" Beast Boy exclaimed as he rubbed his wide eyes. "Where have you been? What's going on? _And what's with the outfit_?!

Robin had left his familiar, brightly-colored green and red uniform behind.

In its place was a form-fitting, long-sleeved body suit with metallic trappings. The chest-piece was dyed half black and half sickly bronze. A silver 'S' decorated the left breast and his forearms, biceps, and shins were protected with inch-thick, iron braces.

A steel collar covered his neckline—from his Adam's apple to his clavicle—and his wrists were shackled with the same, intimidating material. He wore gloves, but slits of pale, bruised skin peeked through from where the black sleeves ran short. He wore heavy plated, leather boots and his familiar half-mask was trimmed with polished copper.

Worse, his normal mess of teased, spiked hair was far tamer than the Titans remembered.

His head had been shaved on either side but a tangle of wild locks still remained on top. It was clear that someone had tried to slick it back, but hadn't succeeded completely in doing so. Stray strands of jet-black hair bled over his forehead and stuck to his shorn scalp.

Without his boyish mane and flamboyant decor, Robin had gained a grizzled edge. His cheekbones and jaw were skeletal. Old and new scars ran helter-skelter across his ashen face. Every time he clenched his teeth, one could trace the movement of the bones as they churned from his chin to his temple. Although his mask hid the deep shadows under his lackluster eyes, Raven could sense his exhaustion...and his palpable rage.

He had become a virtual mini-me of Slade—with the added bonus of a second eye.

Beast Boy's question hung in the air, unanswered; Robin's snarling lips never cracked open once.

"Robin, c'mon!" Cyborg tried, taking a step forward. "What's goin' on?!"

As soon as the robotic teenager picked his electrical foot up, Robin struck. Within seconds, Cyborg was on his back, skidding across the rooftop pavement with a pained grunt. Starfire gasped. Raven said nothing but merely stared, entranced by the nightmare.

 _"What is your problem?!"_ Beast Boy cried as black talons extended from his nailbeds and sharpened fangs grew over his innocent lips.

Not wasting time, Robin threw down a smoke pellet and disappeared into a haze of thick fog. Hidden from view, he unhitched his rope and left the stunned Titans behind.

"Wait! No!"

"Robin, come back!"

"Don't leave!"

"ROBIN!"

The saddened cries of his friends graced his ears as he sped away into the night.

He didn't look back.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! Enjoy~**

* * *

Robin arrived at the specified meeting place ten minutes later.

It was an abandoned fish factory that still smelled of rotting tuna. He wrinkled his nose and sucked in a breath as he entered through the dilapidated doors. A single, cracked lightbulb illuminated the space, swaying gently in the dark. Dusty machinery and rusted, dangling hooks went in and out of shadow.

Of course Slade would choose this place to rendezvous.

Although under horrible circumstances, Robin couldn't deny that it felt wonderful to be out in the real world again. He had almost forgotten the feel of wind in his face as he grappled from building to building, or the crisp beauty of a clear night sky, or the calming white noise of murmuring pedestrians, or the sound of ocean waves sighing on the shore, or the sight of Cyborg as he…

Robin shook his head and snarled softly to himself.

The thermal blaster was heavy in his pocket, his soul.

He stopped beneath the bulb and whisked out the stolen weapon. It looked like a regular gun, except the barrel and the butt were rounder, squatter—like a shrunken canon. A faint stripe of red ran down the sides of it and curled around the trigger. It glittered ominously in the gloom.

He had never stolen anything like this before. In his youth, he had pocketed a few dollars out of Bruce's wallet when he wasn't looking, but his stern guardian had made him pay dearly for the trespass. Robin never could get away with anything with the Dark Knight around.

 _If Bruce saw me now…_

A dizzying wave of shame threatened to ensnare him, but he forced it down.

"I had to do it…" he consoled himself aloud. "I had to do it…"

"Muttering again, are we?"

A month ago, Robin would have jumped five feet in the air at the sudden appearance of Slade. Now, however, he was used to the villain's game. He merely made a grumble of annoyance and stifled the shiver that crawled up his spine whenever his unwanted master came near.

Slade came from behind and passed Robin like a ghost, brushing past his shoulder. His gloved hand was already extended and waiting. Happy to be rid of it, Robin transferred the thermal blaster into Slade's outstretched palm. He then crossed his arms and leaned apathetically onto one foot. He gnawed on his scabbed lip.

The villain took a few seconds to study the blaster, twisting it between his fingers and bringing it close to his makeshift face. After a few seconds, he turned back to Robin. His obsidian iris twinkled with pride and Robin's shame intensified.

"Well done, apprentice," Slade drawled, his metal head haloed. "I'm pleased."

 _"Good for you!_ " Robin wanted to snap but he only gave a short nod and took to staring at his unfamiliar shoes.

He felt Slade's eye study him—roaming, searching, probing—but he kept his sheared head down and his hidden gaze fixed on his steel-tipped toes and the stained concrete.

"However," the man hissed finally. "There's always room for improvement."

Robin didn't like the sound of that. His gaze flicked upward despite himself and he wished bitterly for his old hair. It had always provided another layer in which to hide his expression.

It was if he wasn't wearing a mask at all. The moment his guised eyes connected with Slade's exposed one, he was trapped in its black waters, drowning in tar.

"While it was just _thrilling_ to watch your performance," Slade began, pacing. "It was a bit _too_ exciting for my tastes. Tell me, were you trying to get caught?"

"No," Robin replied morosely, unable to look away.

Slade sighed in abject disbelief.

"I think our next lesson should be 'How to Craft a Proper Lie'..."

"I'm telling the truth," the boy mumbled.

"How noble," Slade mocked, impaling Robin with his glare. "A skilled fighter you may be, but a good liar you most certainly are _not_ , dear boy."

Robin bit the inside of his cheek and spoke no more.

"Perhaps you would like me to tell you what I saw?"

The sulky teen shrugged apathetically and Slade had to stifle the urge to strangle him.

"Let's start from the beginning shall we?" the villain spat in an acidic tone. "I've seen meth-heads take down security guards faster. What should have been an easy—and _silent—_ assignment became a sideshow all because you _pulled your punches._ "

Robin tore through his gums. He tasted blood on his tongue.

"And then when you finally manage to get yourself out of the mess you made," Slade continued, beginning to circle Robin like a shark. "You _freeze_. The Titans arrived far too late to be of any consequence. You could have escaped them easily. But instead, you _fight_ them. _If_ you can really call it that…"

Robin nostrils flared. Arms tightening around his chest, his hands curled into fists.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Slade snarled. "I know you wanted to see your wretched friends again. Their grip on you is… _parasitic_."

He came full circle and peered down at Robin with a mad glint.

"But it's more than that, Robin," he said softly, stepping closer. "I think you wanted to send a message. You wanted the Titans to see _you_ —see what you've become. And you sabotaged this entire mission in order to do just that."

Robin's jawbone ground together, popping. Was he so obvious or was Slade just that good?

"Which then begs the question: Why?" Slade rasped and the atmosphere inhaled in response. "Why would you risk my wrath, the lives of your friends, for something so _meaningless_? Let me guess…"

Hands behind his back, Slade put his metal chin to Robin's ear.

"You still believe you're going to be saved."

With frightening force, he backhanded his frozen apprentice. Swallowing a wounded gasp, Robin braced himself on the concrete. His shoulder socket screamed and his knees bruised as he fell. He couldn't say he wasn't used to the feeling of a swollen, bleeding cheek or the dizzying beginnings of a concussion, but he knew he certainly wasn't a fan.

"You may have exposed our partnership, boy, but the Titans still have no idea how close they are to sudden death. Shall I enlighten them?"

Breaking his vow of silence, Robin scrambled to his feet.

"No!" he cried with a little more force than necessary, holding up his hands in supplication. "No. I'm just not used to this, that's all. I've never stolen before. I got distracted. I thought I hit the guy hard enough. And on the roof—you're right. I _did_ want to see them again. But that's all! I swear! It _won't_ happen again!"

Seconds oozed by. Slade's eye narrowed.

"It had better not."

The villain jerked his copper-plated head, swiveled around, and began walking away. Relieved, his apprentice followed, rubbing his aching jawbone. His heart was still pounding uncomfortably in his chest as the pair stepped into deep shadow.

The putrid fragrance of decay and rot grew stronger. Robin screwed up his face. He would have to burn his clothes to get the rid of the smell.

Toward the back of the factory, Slade wrenched open an ajar manhole and motioned for Robin to jump. He obeyed and soon found himself knee-deep in old fish skeletons and blood-polluted sludge.

He covered his mouth to block out the awful stench and stifle his involuntary squeal. No wonder this place was deserted.

"I monitored your vital signs during the mission," the villain announced from above. "Elevated heartrate, adrenaline, endorphins…"

The teen grunted his response. The noncommittal sound echoed. Slade climbed down.

"You probably won't admit it, but at some level you _enjoyed_ working for me," he continued as he joined the boy wonder.

He then locked the grate back into place, plunging them into pungent darkness.

"It was a thrill, wasn't it?"

Slade's soft tenor clanged against the defiled tunnel walls, ringing through Robin's bones. A faint, incandescent light dimly illuminated their surroundings as Slade flicked on the small flashlight that rose out of his vambrace.

He marched forward, stomping on the skeletons like a conquering warlord—snapping spines and cracking cartilage with ease.

The tunnel declined gradually, but one could easily lose their footing if they weren't being careful. Every footstep resulted in booming reverberations and thunderous crackles that rippled on for miles—the perfect security alarm. The piles of bones thinned as they walked, but the smell remained as potent as ever.

The lower they went into the bowels of the city, the colder it became.

Gooseflesh began to sprout underneath Robin's black bodysuit and his breath came out in puffs of chilled fog. He tripped every other step and, for once, he was happy for the change of shoes. The leather and steel held firm against the jutting edges of the crushed fish bones and the sharpened bits of debris.

How Slade managed to see an inch in front of his face—let alone guide them back to the haunt—remained a mystery. The miniscule amount of light they had was drowned in the smothering dark. Forced to swallow his pride, or end up falling face-first into the defiled ground, Robin closed the distance between himself and Slade.

He was _not_ going to get lost down here and he was _not_ going to give Slade another reason to ridicule him, he vowed.

Acting as the villain's second shadow, Robin blew out a relieved breath when a familiar set of iron doorframes appeared in the murky distance.

As he approached, Slade—without breaking stride—twisted the handle with ease, swept in, and waited for his apprentice to enter before slamming the rusted, metal portal shut. Once inside, he put his lonely eye into a security scanner that hung on the wall next to the entrance. It confirmed his identity and immediately locked down the haunt.

Bolts clicking into place ricocheted throughout the lair. Every door became reinforced with another steel layer. Any visible entryway disappeared behind a wall of shifting rock.

There had been a reason his friends had never been able to find him. He was buried alive down here—suffocated beneath the earth, hidden behind a mound of stone and metal and shadow.

Robin was back in his cage.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hello friends! I apologize for the unforgivable lateness of this update. This chapter is a bit of a filler, but it will most likely be the last of its kind for the foreseeable future. I hope it whets your appetite. Enjoy and thank you so very much for the kind words!~ :)**

* * *

"What just happened?!"

"I don't know."

"That was…"

"I know."

"We _saw_ …"

"I know."

"What are we gonna do?"

Raven sighed as she walked—a great exhale of melancholy. The night had gone on for far too long. A biting, barking migraine was eroding her concentration, and the equally enthusiastic changeling at her side wasn't helping matters.

The team returned solemnly through the lounge doors, Raven in the lead. They had searched for Robin once more after his smoky departure, all to no avail— _again._ The sting of his apparent betrayal had muddled all sense. It felt as if they were running blind through No Man's Land—frantic, pathetic, and ultimately dangling uselessly from barbed wire.

Beast Boy was nipping at her heels like a petulant puppy while Cyborg remained uncharacteristically sedate as he trailed five paces behind everyone else.

Starfire had recovered from the initial shock. She still wore a faraway expression; however, there was a familiar spark beginning to blossom within the emerald depths of her eyes. Robin's mere presence on the rooftop, whether as friend or enemy or whatever, was enough to keep her hope kicking.

Raven halted before the mainframe computers and yanked back her hood. She took another long breath before answering Beast Boy. She stared at the screens distantly, unable to meet his furious emerald gaze.

"I don't know, Garfield," she whispered honestly.

Robin's foreign face plagued her, haunted her. How inhuman he appeared, how sharp and cruel his familiar features were—a fractured reflection! Yet, Raven knew that his vicious appearance was nothing compared to the agonized fury that flowed like molten rock beneath his pale and bruised skin.

It was the anger of a rabid dog—a sorrowful, pitiful rage.

"C'mon Rae. We have to do _something_!" Beast Boy cried, uninspired by Raven's reserve. "It's _Robin_!"

The misery of the night's events tied her throat in a cinderblock noose. It was even worse than she imagined.

In her mind's eye, she saw herself holding a shotgun to Robin's skull, saw as she was forced to put the poor dog down.

She snapped.

"I know!" she yelled, rounding on Beast Boy.

A flash of volcanic red raced through her violet-blue glare. Her usually placid face warped grotesquely, inhumanly. Writhing shadows danced about her shoulders like eager devils. Her cloak fluttered wildly in an invisible, impossible gale.

The unassuming porcelain cups and dishes on the kitchen counter shattered in a spray of shards, tinkling as they crashed to the carpeted floor—fanged snow. The ground rattled. A sudden spike of cold engulfed the room, sapping the air of heat.

"Whoa," Cyborg censured half-heartedly.

"Raven! Stop!" Beast Boy squeaked, taking a step backward.

The clear fear on his innocent features brought Raven back to reality like a slap to the face. She gasped and the ominous, magical spark in the atmosphere snuffed out and became mundane once more. Her cloak fluttered and fell, wrapping around her in the usual protective cocoon.

Her chest heaved as she tried to control her frenzied emotions. She hadn't felt this out of control in years.

The sizzle of her demon blood still sparkled under her skin, a livewire begging for freedom. A small peek of antlers remained upon her exposed brow. Ashamed, she quickly threw her cowl back over her face. The edges of the violet hood singed where she touched it—spots of smoking black.

"I-I'm sorry," she apologized with a tortured expression, turning away.

Leaving the others, Raven sprinted from the room.

If she was to be any help in rescuing Robin, she very well couldn't blow up Titans Tower in the process.

* * *

Robin sat with his back to the cobbled wall. His battered arms were wrapped around his knees as he stared into nothing.

The bodysuit sat discarded at the bottom of the makeshift closet, a jumbled heap of metal and black fabric hidden behind a pair of boots. He hadn't touched the articles since his last mission—three days ago.

He found it impossible to sleep. Only nightmares awaited him on the other side of the subconscious. At first, he had been so exhausted after Slade's sessions that his body screamed for rest. Sleep had been a luxury.

He had adapted.

The incessant pain, the aching of his muscles, and the fatigue had quieted to disapproving mumbles. His mind, on the other hand, only blabbered louder and louder. It pulsed with unholy imaginings, scenes of torment cooked up just for him.

The feel of his boot thwacking into metal as it connected with Cyborg's chest, the look of horror on his friends' faces as he carried out the wishes of a psychopath, Starfire struggling to stand as she gazed at him in moonstruck dismay.

He couldn't even tell them, couldn't even explain his sudden malice. Nor could he express to them the breaking of his heart as he bit the hands that had loved him all these years.

One particular dream kept him from seeking ignorant shelter under the sheets.

In it, he would _run_.

He would also jump and climb and crawl as he tried in palpable desperation to reach the object of his desire: an ethereal light that glimmered in the distance, waiting patiently for him.

As he grew closer, his frenzied steps would slow to a careful trot. The light was within his grasp now. He felt its warmth on his palm, his cheek. All he had to do was say the magic word and it would be his. He would open his mouth to speak the key to his salvation, but nothing would come out.

Unperturbed, he would try again, with more effort this time.

Still, no breath escaped his clamped lips.

He would try to scream the word. He felt the burst of air explode from his lungs, felt it travel up his throat and over his tongue…

Silence.

Now the mysterious, wonderful light was mocking him—he heard as it began to laugh.

No, but that couldn't be right. The stomach churning cackle was coming from somewhere else—above him.

He would look up.

There, as large as a mountain as he loomed over the cowering Robin, was Slade. His dual-colored facade was a gnarled, painted skull—mouthless. His nose was snake-like, two slits in the bone. His icy eye sat in the middle of his forehead like a grotesque cyclops.

His body went in and out of inky translucency, bouncing between shadow and tangibility.

Although he had no mouth, peals of throaty laughter erupted from him. Even more unsettling, his shoulders did not shake with mirth nor did his eye glisten with any sort of glee. Despite the waves of maniacal hooting, the monstrous Slade looked down upon Robin with obvious hunger.

A whimper went unused—it died in Robin's throat.

" _Cat got your tongue?"_ a voice hissed in his ear. " _Try the zipper."_

Confused, Robin lifted a hand to his chin. The familiar bumps of a metal zipper greeted him. His lips had been replaced with it. The hellish laughter pounded against his eardrums as his fingers searched desperately for the clasp in which to open his stitched mouth, but there was none.

He started to back away. He had to get out of here! The light shimmered tauntingly beside him.

But he had waited too long; he had reacted too slowly. While he had struggled with the zipper, his hands and feet and head had been impaled with corkscrewed twine. The cyclops raised a massive, ever-changing hand and Robin felt himself being pulled off the ground. His body elevated higher and higher into the inky darkness, further and further from the light below.

When it was out of sight, and he was completely blind, he felt as Slade's spidery fingers clasped around his torso and squeezed like a cold-skinned brood of vipers.

His arms and legs went numb. He choked on unspoken wails.

The laughter finally died out into an evil quiet.

" _I'm collecting stupid little boys._ "

That's when he would wake up, covered in a frigid sweat.

The backs of his eyes burned with the images of the nightmare. His throat was still coiled and cinched. Deranged, he would topple out of bed and scramble to the shabby mirror, checking to see if his mouth was still a mouth.

He had had this exact dream every night for a week. Each time, he would bolt from bed in the same half-asleep frenzy, unable to calm himself. That horrible laughter! It rattled around his brain like a poltergeist.

He was sure he was insane or would be very soon.

After his initial panic, he would resolve to sit on the floor and wait for Slade to come to take him to training. Anything else would only exacerbate his fragile psyche.

That was the state he was in as of now.

He dressed slowly, sadly. He memorized the feel of the baggy, black trousers as he stepped into them. He wrapped and re-wrapped his feet and hands with tape several times, determined to get it just right—not too tight, not too loose.

He no longer wore shirts because of the collar. The necklines on them would rip as they strained to stretch over the steel. Instead, he merely swathed his midsection with linen bindings. It didn't do much for warmth, but it did provide a decent buffer against Slade's infamous kidney shots.

"Better than the alternative…" he muttered humorlessly to himself.

Ready to go in less than ten minutes, he waited in resigned apprehension for the inevitable crank of the handle, the shift of the bolt, and the whoosh of iron through the cold cavern air as the door swung open—announcing his master's presence.

It could be seconds, it could be hours. He was cut off from time down here.

Sighing, he mindlessly brushed a hand over his temple, tracing the stubble.

He had never had hair this short—not even at birth. The foreignness of it enthralled as well as depressed him. He felt molded, carved, perversely crafted. Slade had not seen a teenage boy, he had seen clay, and he was determined to shape it in his image.

Robin had the scars to prove it.

A particularly nasty welt caught his attention in his peripheral. The bright red wound blistered boldly against the ever-paling skin on his forearm—a red sun peeking over the edge of the steel brace.

He cocked his head and studied it.

The weal was fresh—yesterday's news. It had a twin brother on his other arm.

He had done _something_ to invoke Slade's wrath and the villain did not disappoint. Robin winced at the memory of being electrocuted into a defenseless state, flailing like a fish out of water on the floor.

The shocks were so intense, he could still feel them licking up his arms. Afterwards, he had two angry burns branching out from underneath the shackles.

Perhaps a few weeks ago he would have raged against the injustice of it. He didn't deserve this sore, this punishment; all the hurts and aches he had received by Slade's hand were lawless.

A few weeks ago, he would have used this obvious wrong to fuel his rebellion, would have let the pain stoke the flame of his stubborn spirit.

Then again, a few weeks ago, he still _had_ a spirit.

Now, he observed the still-stinging blisters with a jaded eye.

Slipping away into blurry, unformed thoughts, he barely noticed when he heard faint footsteps approaching. The click of the handle pricked his ears. His fingers stopped stroking his shorn scalp.

Silently, he got to his feet and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. His naked face remained forward and unseeing—tabula rasa.

As expected, Slade entered. He turned to Robin expectantly.

"Ready?"

Robin nodded—more of a jerk than a nod, actually—not falling for the obvious trick question. Slade appraised him for a moment, baiting. The fish didn't bite.

"Come," he finally ordered, a flicker of perverse amusement coloring his sedate tone.

Pushing off the rock, Robin filed out of the room. Every time he went through this morning ritual, his stomach gave a twinge of regret at not sprinting as fast as he could out the tantalizingly open door.

Of course, he wouldn't get so far as three feet before being dragged down; not to mention that he had absolutely no idea how to escape this underground dungeon. Even if he made it to the exit—the doors were sealed in by a literal ton of rock and only opened at Slade's behest, as he just found out.

Still, the fleeting irrationality gave him a moment of idiotic, euphoric pleasure.

Slade strode past him, hands behind his back.

The stupid hope died, taking another piece of his spirit with it.

He followed, stepping on his master's shadow.


	12. Chapter 12

_**"Hey little monster, I got my eye on you."**_

* * *

Slade peered mutely at the boy wonder. His roaming eye took in every inch of Robin's bruise-spotted skin, every swollen batch of scrapes, every protruding bone—the knobbed joints stretched the flesh.

Behind his metal mask, a rare, self-satisfied smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

His apprentice refused to meet his penetrating stare.

It was typical; the teenager rarely lifted his chin up from his chest these days. With hunched shoulders and sullen, crossed arms, Slade pondered if he would ever see the old, deliciously rebellious spark coursing through those glacial-blue eyes. A twinge of odd regret wormed its way into his brain.

Luckily, the feeling passed as suddenly as it came.

The pair stood face-to-face in the atrium, their shadows blending into the gloom. A small wisp of chilled fog escaped from between Robin's tightly-wound mouth. He fought the eager shivers that quaked beneath his goose-bumped skin.

It was cold—as cold as the inside of a wintry mausoleum, a refrigerated morgue. He was regretting his choice of attire. The thin layer of athletic wrap that wound around his abdomen was worthless against the biting air. The sweatpants were better, but he could feel the chill seeping through them.

The steely collar and the shackles were by far the worst. Unable to take them off, it felt as if he had blocks of ice nailed into his wrists and neck. The skin around the adornments was beginning to burn.

The distantly churning cogs emitted a subtle breeze, but—to Robin—it was a veritable gale of frigid wind whenever it kissed his flesh. His hairs stood at attention, a frozen forest.

His lips turned blue as he waited for Slade to get on with it. He sniffed.

"Your next mission," Slade announced finally, jabbing a button on his vambrace.

The T.V.-screened wall blared violently in the dark. Robin winced at the sudden brightest, but his head did not twitch an inch. He peered at the monitors out of the corner of his eye.

A bitter dread dropped like a rock in his stomach.

It caused a small shudder to ricochet from the backs of his heels to the crown of his head. He had to grit his teeth and clench his hands in order to control it before it consumed his body.

"Cold?" Slade asked innocently.

Robin jerked his head side-to-side.

The copper-colored half of Slade's mask glimmered in the oppressive fluorescence radiating off the screens, sending off rays of distorted light. A black hole, his pupil absorbed all illumination. It cut through the kaleidoscope of colors and drilled into Robin's downturned forehead.

"I know you've been _itching_ to see the Titans again," he said in a disturbing undertone. "And I can't think of a better way to test your skills than to set up a playdate with your former friends."

He clicked another switch and a picture of the Wayne Enterprises skyscraper filled the screens. Robin cocked his head another inch as the trepidation in his gut festered.

 _No, no, it's too soon!_

"Don't worry, it's not _all_ play and no work," Slade continued and a set of blueprints replaced the image of Wayne Enterprises on the monitor.

From the schematics, the object of his master's desire appeared to be a cylindrical case of inch-thick lead, housing some sort of energy source. The fact that it needed such precaution alluded to its unstable and dangerous nature.

Robin swallowed. His tongue felt swollen and dry.

Slade motioned for him to follow, taking out a map of the building. They gathered around a granite worktable that was off to the side, hidden in shadow. A light switched on above without provocation, encircling them in an illuminated halo. The thermal blaster glittered serenely upon the rocky desk, catching Robin's eye.

Slade smoothed out the map. He had circled the most heavily guarded points in red pen. It seemed the entire paper was a flurry of red splotches.

"We'll have to be more… _creative_ than last time," he admitted wryly. "Security has tripled."

Robin grunted.

Slade tapped the top of the sheet.

"You'll go in by glider," he decided. "There's a vent on the roof. You know the one."

Robin said nothing and kept his gaze fixed on the map in front of him. A weighty, unspoken threat permeated the space between them. Slade had not forgotten—nor forgiven—Robin's costly error from the previous mission.

"Once inside the vent, make your way to the twenty-ninth floor," Slade explained, eye flashing. "The objective is in Sector 7. It'll be heavily guarded, but that won't be a problem, will it?"

"No," Robin muttered.

"That's right," Slade commended patronizingly. "It won't."

Robin's lip curled at the tone his master took; a flicker of ancient anger thumped once against his freezing chest.

"We leave at midnight. The rendezvous point is at Pier 11. You'll have one hour."

"Fine," Robin hissed.

"Don't pull your punches."

"Fine."

"Put one toe out of line and you'll go the rest of your life skinless," he reminded him with a voice utterly inflection-less. "Not to mention _friendless_. Do I make myself clear?"

Robin nodded curtly to which Slade sighed.

Instantly, his frigid, gloved hand was snaked around the back of Robin's neck, squeezing. He leaned in.

"I asked you a question."

Robin shivered. The sensation of Slade's fingers curled around him was straight out of his nightmare. His shoulders hitched up, straining against the collar.

"Yes, master," he responded through clenched teeth.

Slade's clutch tightened. His fingers crept up Robin's skull like tarantula legs. Soon, his thumb was resting above Robin's left ear, cradling his cranium in a monstrous grip. The feel of leather against the stubble of his scalp was unnerving to say the least.

He compelled Robin to face him head on, something that the boy had been resisting all day. Their eyes connected and there was no chance Robin would be able to look away now. The wolf's paw had fallen into the steel jaws of a hunter's trap.

The man studied him for a moment, soaking in information. He could tell by the determined set of Robin's mouth that the teenager had not been completely broken of spirit; however, the obvious, bold-faced fear that danced in the depths of Robin's hollow stare said otherwise.

He would never admit it, but Slade had wormed his way deep within his psyche. _He_ was the object of Robin's nightmares now, the epitome of terror.

And he couldn't be more pleased.

It would be this fear, this poisonous neurosis, which would bury the ideal and resurrect cold reality—the hero would die and the villain would rise in his place. Selfish, self-preserving fright would erase the memory of the Titans, for it is hard to be a saint when being scourged by demons.

Robin's will to save his friends would succumb to the natural desire to _survive_. Of this, Slade was sure. Only a bit more pressure and the boy was his.

He was only too happy to oblige.

"I don't think I like your attitude, young man," he hinted horribly through a hidden smile.

Slade watched with sadistic pleasure as the fear in Robin's eyes spread infectiously to the rest of his face.

His talons dug in, he set his stance.

 _All mine._

* * *

When the alarms went off at Titans Tower, the team was ready for it.

They had taken shifts every night, waiting for the inevitable. Four days had passed, but none of them doubted that they would see Robin again.

The call came in at 12:23am.

There was a break-in at Wayne Enterprises. Suspect unknown. There had been an explosion.

Ten security guards were unconscious. Four had broken arms. Two had snapped femurs. Seven had concussions. One was in critical condition—a cracked skull. All, at the very least, were badly wounded.

If the Titans had any misgiving as to which side Robin now belonged, the casualty count he left behind erased it.

They were out the door at 12:26.


	13. Chapter 13

_**"Claw at your walls, I'll come when you cry. Oh, no now, you're never gonna love me."**_

* * *

Just like last time, they found him on the roof.

However, unlike before, he wasn't attempting to escape.

A lone wire hung between the Wayne Enterprises tower and the adjacent skyscraper; Robin had set up his means of escape, but had no intention of using it.

His back was turned to the Titans as they descended cautiously from the black sky. The moon was a thumbnail, casting an emaciated glow. The city was unusually quiet below. Not even a car honked.

The faint wails of security alarms reverberated from beneath their feet as they landed, but the action inside had long since died. Normal men were ill equipped to handle Robin's savagery.

The Titans huddled together and practically tip-toed toward the boy wonder. His alien, uncloaked back was to them. When they were within hearing range, they noticed that he appeared to be arguing with himself, speaking furiously under his breath.

"…the…secured…complete…but—"

His words cut off suddenly. He seemed completely unaware of the team's presence. In frozen confusion, they waited patiently for him to notice. They still held onto the hope that he could be re-converted.

"There's no _point_!" he hissed—loud enough for them to hear.

Another weighty pause ensued. He sighed.

"Understood."

Even his _voice_ was off. It had always been throaty, but it had also been soft, gentle—like a whirring purr. If a cat if could speak, it would sound like Robin.

Now, all kindness had been stripped from his speech. It was a hard rasp, a black-lunged growl. There was a desperate thirst inflecting each syllable. It made Raven think of candles being snuffed out or the hiss of a rusty radiator or a hoarse wolf's growl.

Suddenly, his shoulders slumped, as if a pile of bricks had fallen on him. Beast Boy's eyes actually darted upward, wondering if something had struck Robin from above.

"Yes, master," he choked out, his tone brittle and rough like sandpaper.

Raven sensed the change in his temperament just as he turned around to face them.

He was going to fight them. Of this, she was certain. Talking to him would be a waste of time.

As Robin pivoted, the sight of his sallow, hollow face was enough to make Starfire audibly whimper. His mask had been ripped down the middle. It hung by a thread across his scuffed brow. A cut accompanied the tear. Drips of blood dribbled down the bridge of his nose, cleaved his blackened mouth in two, and fell to the ground.

He licked his lips. The blood smeared.

A disturbing crown of bruises sat upon his forehead—hues of rancid green, withered yellow, and twilight purple. Another blot of black-blue stained the side of his neck, disappearing under his steel collar and creeping up into his jawline.

A frown pulled at Raven's lips. Some of these wounds were fresh, but the contusions on his forehead had to be old. She had no memory of them from when she had last seen him. A mutual feeling of revulsion spread amongst the Titans.

Wherever Robin went to at nights, wherever he stayed during the day—he was getting thrashed. Slade was beating the boy within an inch of his life.

What better way to mold clay?

Fully turned, he made no further movement. His inhuman stillness was so Slade-like that Raven had to look away. A thick strand of sweat-soaked, onyx hair hung over his mask like a withered vine. The stubble of his scalp was a strange shadow on the sides of his sharp skull.

He was more of an alien than Starfire.

"Robin…" Cyborg whispered, his deep voice breaking with hurt. "What's goin' on? Talk to us, man!"

Robin's lip curled in a sneer. He slowly crouched to the ground, shifting his weight onto his toes threateningly. His gloved fingers pressed into the corporate dirt.

"Guess there's nothin' to talk about…" Beast Boy mumbled and his pupils dilated; black talons peeked out of his nailbeds.

Cyborg gave the changeling a look.

"We don't want to fight," he corrected, holding up his hands submissively and speaking slowly. "We just want to talk."

Robin gave no response. He was as silent as a statue.

"See? He doesn't _want to talk to us_ , dude," Beast Boy snapped, shaking his head.

"BB. Please shut up," Cyborg suggested in a mock-friendly tone.

Raven watched the fruitless exchange uneasily, her veiled, violet eyes darting between the boy wonder and Cyborg. She didn't have a good enough read on Robin yet to predict who his first target would be.

Starfire shifted closer to her as Beast Boy spoke, sensing the same tension beginning to build in the air. The warrior-princess knew when negotiations were drawing to an end. War brewed.

The Empath reached for Starfire's dangling hand, poking it. When the girl glanced curiously over, Raven gave her a weighted stare. She had a plan.

Starfire jerked her chin in understanding. The movement was barely perceivable; the Titan boys were utterly oblivious to the silent interchange going on behind them…

…but Robin noticed it.

Although his face was pointed toward Cyborg and Beast Boy, his masked eyes were locked upon the girls. When Starfire nodded, his head cocked like a hawk that had spotted its first kill of the day.

Raven had just turned back around, when she felt the shift in him.

"T-titans, _go_!" she yelped as Robin pounced.

Instantly, a thick, stifling fog of heady smoke exploded from the ground. The neon light emitted from the Wayne Enterprises sign dimmed in the haze. Choruses of coughs sounded all around.

He came straight for Raven.

She felt him closing in, charging like a crazed boar. She couldn't concentrate. Her eyes watered painfully, the tear gas doing its work. Every breath was greeted by stabbing pain in her chest. She was a wheezing, sitting duck.

"Az-az…rath…"

A black blur burst from the biting smoke. A bone-crushing force pounded into her chest. Raven flew through the polluted air and landed, hard, on her back, skidding to the edge of the roof. Her hair tangled in the high-rise wind.

The gas was dissipating, but her team was still lost in its suffocating depths. She was alone.

This wasn't the first time she had been on the receiving end of Robin's wrath, but it was the first time she felt genuinely afraid. A shadow in the night, he was upon her as soon as she tumbled to a halt.

She gasped and threw her arms up in self-defense as his fist came crashing down. A sheet of black magic filtered out weakly from her hands. It absorbed his punch, but the thin shield shattered at the sheer force of it.

Only thirty seconds in and she was already tapped. If she hadn't been fighting for her life, she would have been disgusted with herself.

He raised his fist again, going for the kill; he wanted her sidelined as quickly as possible.

Raven squeezed her eyes shut.

The blow did not come.

She heard him grunt in furious exacerbation. Her lids flew open to see Starfire standing over her. Her face was unreadable as she extended a hand toward Raven.

Raven took it and was pulled to her feet. She groaned. The flesh on her back was ripped, shredded.

"Are you damaged?" Starfire asked in soprano concern.

Robin was now busy in the background, dodging Beast Boy's bear claws and Cyborg's sonic cannon as they herded him to the other side of the rooftop. He leapt, spun, and pirouetted out of their grasp with lethal grace, unable to get past them but not giving them an inch either.

He held nothing back—unhinged—but his body position was forever pointed in her direction. The moment he had the opportunity to remove her from the fight, he was going to take it.

The others wouldn't last long. They were good, but Robin was better. He'd find the loophole sooner rather than later.

Raven only had a few minutes, maybe, before the corrupted Robin would be upon her once more.

She met Starfire's worried gaze.

"Keep him off me," she ordered, wincing.

The alien nodded resolutely. Her hands and eyes glowed with jade flames. She whirled around and glared as she stood defensively in front of Raven.

Assured for now, Raven focused her mind and slowed her breathing. Her feet floated off the ground. She sat cross-legged in the air. A shroud of shimmering shadow wrapped about her in a protective shawl.

" _Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos_ ," she exhaled, magic dancing on her tongue.

She repeated her incantation several times. With each chant, her occult power built within, tearing her away from the material plane. Feathered, galactic wings sprouted from her spine. The ethereal caw of a raven pierced the night.

Realizing what was happening, Robin kicked out of Cyborg's grip. His steel-plated boot connected with the jaw, sending the robot careening. Pressing his advantage, Robin then side-stepped the pouncing, rending swipe of the emerald-tinted lion. Carried by his foolish momentum, the large feline overextended and crashed to the ground.

Robin darted toward the girls with a dangerous head-start on the other two Titans.

However, his efforts were too little, too late.

As he neared the alien and the Empath, a javelin of mystic obsidian shot from Raven's forehead and drilled straight into him. The sensation of Raven entering his mind made his feet falter. He slowed and collapsed to a knee. Disoriented, he couldn't dodge the green ram's horns as they bored into his side.

" _Ah!_ "

He rolled across the pavement. His bones grumbled as they smacked repeatedly into the cement. As he tumbled, Raven spoke inside his head. Her dark sorcery was like a crisp breeze on a winter night; it felt like the awestruck chill that accompanies a star-studded sky.

It was familiar to him, but unwelcome.

He wanted her out— _now_. Even as his skin chaffed against the concrete, he set his mind against her presence, trying to drive her out.

" _Robin, what are you doing? Why are you fighting us?"_

" _Robin let me see. Let me understand."_

" _Robin, what has Slade done to you?"_

He thwacked into the billboard's pole and rolled no more. Not moving, he put all of his effort into expunging Raven. He clutched at his head madly, covered his ears. Although a battle now erupted inside his brain, the physical combat had halted—dead-in-the-water.

" _Robin, stop! Let me in!"_

" _No."_

" _Robin, let me help you!"_

" _Get out,"_ he thought at her.

" _Robin…why…?"_

Her incessant pleas were like whips across his back. He visibly flinched. He appeared to be having a seizure or some kind of psychotic break.

"Dude, is he ok?" Beast Boy squeaked, afraid to approach the downed boy wonder.

Despite his initial hostility, he didn't _want_ to see Robin in pain.

Cyborg nudged him in the ribs and jerked his chin in the direction of Raven.

Beast Boy's mouth formed an 'o'. Their last hope now rested on Raven's slight shoulders.

Unfortunately, Robin's iron will was slowly eclipsing her foreign influence; his molten rage was driving out her black-ice witchcraft.

" _Get out, Raven."_

" _Robin…please."_

" _Get_ _out of my head_ , _bitch_!" he snarled aloud at the dirty ground.

Faster than any of them could react, Robin was back on his feet and sprinting. His face had the appearance of a crazed stallion: nostrils flared, jaw clenched, and hair whipping in the wind. Furious snorts and raving growls erupted from him. His rage drowned out Raven's cerebral voice.

Back in the fight, Cyborg unleashed his sonic cannon but it had the unfortunate effect of not only destroying the neon sign—which came crashing to the ground—but also of barring Beast Boy from his pursuit.

Starfire acted as last defense. She raised her burning hand and commanded:

" _Stop!_ "

Robin ignored her.

He was well within range of her star-bolts, but she hesitated to unleash her power. What if he got hurt?

Robin was far less concerned for her safety. His rainstorm gaze was locked on Raven. A wolfish snarl was imprinted on his snout, his teeth were bared.

Raven held onto his mind for as long as possible, gleaning anything she could, but her shadowy grip on him was already slipping. Whenever she tried to gain a foothold, he set up an impenetrable wall. Still, he was not as adept as her in matters of the mind. Blurry, unfocused images and feelings leaked out of his head.

When her presence was just a whisper on his brainwaves, Robin unsheathed his bo-staff, sprung off the ground, and swung for Starfire's head.

Eyes going wide, she dodged it at last second, but he had clipped her shoulder. His staff broke in two and clattered to the ground.

Her tan skin was thicker than a rhinoceros's hide. The fact that he had struck her was more of a wound to her heart than her arm. Angry tears welled in her eyes. She did not want to fight him, but he left little choice.

Before Robin could pass her by, she had him by the collar.

She tossed him back with an infuriated cry. How dare he act this way! After all they had been through? It was inexcusable. This wasn't him. It couldn't be.

As he was flung backward, he extracted something from his silvery belt that looked an awful lot like a gun. Its black body sparkled.

Without warning, before his toes touched the ground, Robin aimed and fired.

"Robin..." Starfire whispered.

A teardrop sped out of the lip of her eye.

With a high-pitched whine, a brilliant red beam shot out from the barrel.

An evil burgundy hue lit up Starfire's pained face. Hitting his target, the alien collapsed. She was alive—he _knew_ she would survive—but she was knocked unconscious. Her purple breastplate was torn at the sides. Smoking, singed slashes decorated her bronzed torso.

Her inert face was tight with sorrow. An unhappy wrinkle puckered between her scarlet eyebrows.

After a moment's pause, Robin finished the game. It didn't take much.

In her entranced state and with her injuries, Raven was a lamb ready for slaughter.

" _Robin, wait! Please! Don't!"_ she screeched inside his mind.

He strode smoothly up to her and struck her in the neck.

She crumpled alongside Starfire with a mournful sigh.

Trapped under the rubble of the fluorescent billboard, Beast Boy morphed from animal to animal trying to escape its electrical clutches. Cyborg had taken a chunk of rock to the head. Robin could hear him grumbling as he staggered to his feet.

" _I think that's enough fun for tonight_ ," Slade buzzed in his ear. " _Move out."_

Emotionless, Robin peered at the defeated, unresponsive Titan girls. The fingers at his side twitched. There was a strand of rosy, crimson hair strung across Starfire's brow. It begged to be tucked behind her ear.

" _Robin, I gave you an order_."

A wave of pity sprinted through his chest, but he didn't dare disobey.

He turned away.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thank you for the comments, I adore reading your thoughts.**

* * *

 _ **"I've got this thorn dug in deeply. Sometimes I can't get it out."**_

* * *

The nest of storage facilities at Pier 11 was clustered on the waterfront. Midnight waves splashed against the iron, barnacle-encrusted boardwalk supports as Robin waited for Slade on one of the flattop roofs.

The canopy of stars was especially beautiful tonight. The patterned constellations hovered over his head and winked playfully down at him. He recognized the bending bow of Sagittarius, its arrow perpetually strung and aimed at Ursa Minor—hunter vs. hunted.

Suddenly disturbed, he stopped stargazing and lowered his chin. He closed his eyes and leaned heavily against a rusted smokestack.

There was the distinct chill of an autumn night pricking at his hair. He could smell rain approaching.

Nevertheless, the fond caress of the sea breeze on his battered cheek did nothing to comfort his troubled heart. Instead of enjoying what little time he had above ground, he longed for the isolation of his prison.

He wanted to crawl under a rock and never be seen again, to fall into a void and be erased from existence. He wanted to stop feeling. He wanted to stop thinking. He just wanted to _stop_. Every moment he stood here wallowing in freshly cut wounds was agony.

His knuckles still stung from the punches he threw. The blood and sweat on his forehead had not dried. He could remember the feel of his leather and steel clad toes as they plowed into Cyborg's organic jaw. In his mind's eye, he saw himself firing the thermal blaster at Starfire, heard her whimper of pain as she collapsed before him.

He crossed his arms protectively, trying to shield himself against the guilt.

His right hand tingled.

He had struck Raven in the neck with that hand. She had _begged_ him to stop. He could still hear her shrill, psychic pleas.

He had ignored her. He ignored them all.

 _Monster._

With a guttural growl, he pushed off the smokestack and started pacing. The loose gravel crunched under his haunted stomps.

" _Where is he_?" he snarled under his breath.

Of course, when Robin actually _wanted_ Slade's presence, the man was nowhere to be seen. A frustrated itch crept up his leg. It was accompanied by a revitalized anger. His paces turned into sprints and morphed into complicated backflips on the rooftop edge—a daring balance beam. He had to do something to distract himself from the anguish.

He couldn't deny that his skills had improved or, at least, sharpened. His feet were as silent as shadows as he leapt and landed. His breath was a notch above nonexistent. The rats below made more noise than he as they scurried and squeaked.

He certainly hadn't acquired any new weight or bulk—Slade's draconian diet saw to that—but he had obtained a masterful control of mind and body that had not been realized until now.

Natural talent and hard work had gotten him the Robin mantle, but Slade's apprenticeship was an "honor" not as easily achieved. It required death—a death of distraction, of emotion, of happiness, of love.

These were seen as necessary sacrifices in service of perfection.

"Good technique…"

Sliding out of the dark like an apparition, Slade had finally decided to show his metallic face. He stood in the shadow of the smokestack. The glimmer of his mask was the only indication of his existence.

"…but not perfect," he critiqued expectedly from the deep dark.

Annoyed, Robin finished his impressive flip and hopped off the ledge. Even after the past month of attuning himself to Slade's behavior, he still couldn't solve the mystery of how the villain managed to sneak up on him like that.

"Having fun?" Slade inquired calmly as the ragged boy wonder approached him.

Robin grumbled something unintelligible. He stared at the ground, scuffing it with his shoe. A gnawing fear was displacing the shame. The bruises on his brow still ached—a reminder of Slade's perilous unpredictability.

"My, my, aren't we _dramatic_ tonight."

Robin shrugged and blew a stray strand of hair out of his face.

"And here I thought you _wanted_ to see the Titans again," Slade mused, cocking his knobbed head. "What happened?" he asked in feign concern.

"Nothing."

"Robin," Slade chided in the same sarcastic tone. "I'm hurt. After all we've been through, you still don't trust me?"

The scornful jab struck true; the paralytic indifference began to thaw as Robin's blood warmed. His brow furrowed in a glare. Slade spoke of the last _month_ of torture as if it were nothing more than a teenager's delusion—a fickle fancy.

Unable to annihilate the target of his desire, Robin settled for a pebble. He swung his leg backward and booted a sizeable piece of gravel. It soared through the air and disappeared over the ledge. The lackluster _clink!_ of it hitting the pavement below was unsatisfying, to say the least, but he got his point across.

Slade's eye narrowed. It sparkled with interest.

"Can we please just go?" Robin snapped, crossing his arms.

Slade jerked in a small fit of shock. The Titan had always managed to defy expectation. That ingenuity is what made him so irresistible; however, Slade had not anticipated Robin to break this cleanly with the outside world so quickly.

"Back to the haunt?" Slade probed, intrigued.

Robin's hidden eyes darted up and back down. He sniffed and wiped his blood-encrusted lip.

"Yes," he said sharply.

Placing his hands behind his back, the villain strode into the faint starlight and glided past Robin, saying no more. Relieved, the boy wonder followed. He longed for the seclusion of his enforced exile. He deserved the cage.

A veiled smirk played on Slade's lips.

Robin was ready for the final lesson.

* * *

When Raven awoke, she was back in her room at Titans Tower, wrapped in a bundle of blankets. As she stirred, she could feel the familiar itch and pinch of bandages digging into her back.

Annoyed but whole, she groaned to a sitting position and peered blearily around. She couldn't remember how she got here, but she did recall the why: Robin.

She put a gentle hand to the base of her neck and winced when her fingers grazed the swollen bruise there. She sighed and shook her head. The movement caused other injuries to protest. Everything was stiff and sore and she wondered just how long she'd been unconscious.

Unlike his allegiance, Robin's fighting skill had not changed—unfortunate as that was for Raven and the others.

Her room was cloaked in its usual shadow, making it difficult to tell dusk from dawn. The glittering glass jars and comforting, dusty books bid her a macabre hello. As her limbs returned to life, so too, did pain; even the smallest shift caused the brittle, fresh scabs to crack apart and bleed.

Cocooned as she was, she was hesitant to leave the comfortable swaddle of sheets; however, she had more important things to concern herself with than her own petulant needs.

So, with a sense of duty equivalent to a Roman Stoic, Raven dislodged herself awkwardly from the cushy blankets and readied herself. She was in luck. The day had not yet died; the sun was just beginning its descent into the skyline. She could sense that the rest of the team was awake and troubled. Indeed, Beast Boy's immature frustration was practically palpable.

She sighed aloud—dreading the inevitable fight.

She was dressed in a pair of loose sweats and an oversized, black t-shirt. Her hair was tangled and annoying so she snagged a hairband and tied it back. It was just long enough for such a style, though the subsequent ponytail was quite pathetic.

The aforementioned bandages were wrapped snuggly around her waist and wound up to the lowest rung of her ribcage. She prodded the wounds on her back as gingerly as she could, but she still had to stifle a yelp when her nails skimmed the stinging abrasions.

When she had more strength, she would be able to use her magic to aid the healing process but, at the moment, she was too drained and unfocused for such a task. Not bothering to check a mirror, she limped out the door.

Walking slowly, her apprehension at facing the others turned ever fiercer; the forecast of emotions exploding from the lounge did not bode well. She prepared herself, trying to recall every last detail of the fight with Robin. There was so much, it all blurred together. She wasn't even sure if Robin was aware of how confused he was.

His mind was a warzone of the nuclear variety. Radioactive, poisonous thoughts and feelings bled out of him despite his resolve to keep them contained. He was a Pandora's Box waiting to be opened. A dozen different facets of his personality fought with one another in a seemingly endless cycle.

Honor vs. Responsibility; Self-survival vs. Selflessness; Fear vs. Fury; Resentment vs. Love; Sorrow vs. Will; Emotion v. Apathy—each of these combated in one massive, bloodstained arena.

Raven already had bets on who the winners would be, and the predictions were not good.

Yet, there was something else that the Empath had discovered during her short time in Robin's headspace. It had been one of his clearer feelings, a steady undercurrent running through the chaos.

Now as she approached the Titans—who could be heard yelling from behind the metal door panels—she double-checked her intuitions. She paused and took a steadying breath, ignoring the complaints of her road-rash skin.

"…it's over, Star!" Cyborg suddenly boomed. His cry was followed by a high-pitched affirmation from Beast Boy.

Raven took this as her cue to enter.

The scene was as she expected.

Starfire stood alone, profiled against the large monitor screen, her hands outstretched diplomatically. She faced Beast Boy and Cyborg, whose faces were a mixture of disbelief, annoyance, and anger. They mirrored one another—arms crossed, stricken glares, and hunched, unbending shoulders. Each of these mannerisms spoke to their already stubborn prejudices.

When the panels clicked open, the three Titans stopped their heated discussion and simultaneously flicked their heads in Raven's direction. Upon seeing her, Starfire immediately floated over, her expression switched from despair to worry.

"Friend Raven, I am _so_ gladdened to see that you are awake!" she exclaimed. "What is your status? Are you damaged?"

"I'm fine," Raven responded shortly and then, after seeing Starfire's hurt reaction: "…thanks."

It was a bit curter than she would have liked, but her mind was already centered upon the boys. Persuading them was going to be difficult…and she was _grumpy_. It was not a pleasant combination.

"Oh, well, that is fortunate…" Starfire stuttered as Raven hobbled past her.

The boys did not greet the Empath as warmly. They had plastered on concerned faces, trying to fool her, while their feelings remained mired in bitterness. Their stupidity made her want to snort. She saw right through their semblances—probably more than they knew.

"Hey Rae, how's it—?" Beast Boy began to inquire half-heartedly as she approached.

"Save it," Raven barked, shuffling to the couch.

She plopped onto the cushions with a grunt. Being on her feet was murder. Her entire back stung and throbbed uncomfortably.

"What's with you?" Cyborg challenged.

"Besides the fact that I got karate-chopped in the neck by one of my best friends?" she retorted with her infamous scowl.

"Oh…right…"

She rolled her violet eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, concentrating. The others fell into an awkward hush, but their vibrant sentiments were not as silent. They eagerly awaited her findings.

As she meditated, she grew more and more confident of what she had garnered from Robin. Yes, she was positive now.

"Rae, I'm dyin' over here," Beast Boy finally chirped.

His shrill voice pierced through her attempts at contemplation. She sighed. Patience was a virtue Beast Boy did not have.

"Ok, look," she started, opening her eyes. "I wasn't able to get a _complete_ read on Robin…"

"Oh c'mon—!"

"— _but_ ," she continued over Garfield's complaint. "What I sensed should be enough to give us an idea of what we're going up against."

"I know _exactly_ what we're goin' up against," Cyborg grumbled. "Slade. Pure and simple."

"Robin _is not_ Slade!" Starfire cried from beside the couch. "How can you even contemplate such treachery?!"

"He's a criminal, Star. And he's workin' for Slade."

"He is our _friend_! He needs our _help_!"

"Why are you defending him?" Beast Boy chimed in. "He tried to kill you _and_ Raven!"

"No, he didn't."

Raven's monotone cut through their bickering.

"Are you nuts?!" Beast Boy cried, turning his attention to her. "I _saw_ him! He shot Star with that laser-gun-thingy! The only reason she's alive is 'cause she's an alien. Er, no offense..."

"I'm not so sure," Raven mused, furrowing her brow. "I was in his head when he did it, and I think he _knew_ she wouldn't be hurt...not _permanently_ , anyway. And he wasn't trying to kill me. He was just trying to sever the mind-link."

Beast Boy snorted.

"Fine, he didn't add 'murder' to the list…whoop-dee-doo. We _still_ gotta take him down."

"Maybe," she conceded, wincing at the idea. "But I don't think that's the right move."

"Why?" Cyborg growled. "We tried talkin' to him. We gave him every opportunity and you know what he does? _He_ attacks. We tried to help him and he tries to kill us. _That's_ what he thinks of us now. End of story. The Robin we knew is gone and the Teen Titans have to take him down."

Starfire made a snarl of objection. Raven held up her hand.

"The reason he didn't talk to us is because he couldn't," she explained. "I don't know _why_ , but I sensed…"

She paused, trying to formulate the words.

"What is it?" Starfire asked in a hushed voice, crouching intently in front of Raven.

Her emerald eyes were wide, vulnerable.

"He was almost… _protective,_ " Raven said. "Like he was trying to save _us_ instead of the other way around."

Disbelief was clear on Cyborg's face.

"That's crazy. You must have, I don't know, _sensed_ wrong."

"Which one of us is the Empath?" Raven snapped, angered by his overt doubt. "I know what I sensed. And the more I think about it, the more it fits. I mean, _why_ would Robin join Slade?"

"Uh, Rae, Red-X ring any bells?!" Beast Boy squeaked.

"But he became Red-X to _catch_ Slade, not to join him," she corrected. "Think about it. Robin was obsessed with stopping Slade. And Slade knew it. The Chronoton Detonator was a ploy to get us away from Robin…and we fell for it."

"What are you sayin'?" Beast Boy asked with a raised emerald brow. "That Slade is mind-controlling Robin?"

"If that was the case, I would have sensed it," Raven replied sadly. "That was our Robin on that rooftop. But, I _do_ think that Slade is controlling him through other means. I just don't know how or why."

"He _was_ pretty banged up…" the changeling recalled, his elfin features screwed up cutely. "Do you think Slade is—?"

"I can't believe you guys!" Cyborg bellowed, cutting in. "All of you are overlookin' the fact that Robin is _one_ robbery away from creating a weapon of mass destruction!"

Now it was Raven's turn to be surprised. She felt the color drain from her cheeks.

" _What_?"

Ace in the hole, Cyborg looked positively smug as he flipped around to face the computer.

"After his last theft, I compiled all the data we had on Slade's past crimes and tried to decipher a behavioral pattern so that we could predict where Robin might strike next."

He jabbed a few keys with a flourish of his mechanical fingers—a maestro at the piano. A flurry of images flew across the screen—pictures of impressive skyscrapers, of top secret blueprints, of Slade's unnerving metal mask…

Cyborg finally landed on a world map. Each location that Slade committed a felony at, or associated with, was marked.

The villain had been busy. There were at least two hundred bright green spots staring back at the Titans, stretching from the West to the East coast of the United States, from the tip of the Arctic Circle to the bottom of South America, all along the coasts of Africa, up the Mediterranean Sea, into the European continent, and across the Pacific to Tokyo, Beijing, and Bangladesh.

"All these places…?" Beast Boy asked in a dazed voice.

Just how deep did Slade's evil run?

Cyborg smashed a few more keys and the dots began to disappear.

"I found the link," he explained. "He was searching for a device to harness nuclear power."

"The thermal blaster…"

"And do you know what he stole last night?"

Raven closed her eyes, defeated.

"Plutonium."


	15. Chapter 15

_**"Every day's a struggle just to get out of bed, and I fight constantly with the voice in my head. When I look in the mirror I see a face full of scars..."**_

* * *

Alone at last, Robin shuffled his way to the bed and, without even unstrapping his boots, collapsed onto it. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Exhausted and emotionally drained, his troubled mind sought the escape of sleep easily. For the first time in many nights, he did not dream.

That was not the strangest part.

After many hours of rest, Robin awoke alone. Slade was not yelling at him to get dressed; he did not feel the horrid chill of Slade's fingers on his scalp as he yanked Robin out of bed.

On top of the covers, he realized that his mask was still on. The thing was practically glued to his face and he had to use considerable effort to strip it off. He flung it away and rolled to a sitting position on the edge of the mattress.

He rubbed his neck and gave a great yawn. He arched and cracked his spine and ran a hand over his face.

He felt raw, wrinkled, groggy. The bodysuit clung to him. The metal guards pinched and imprinted his skin. His feet were numb; the leather was not worn-in yet. Sighing, he bent over, untied them, and kicked them off.

His brain was still a fatigued blur. There was an echo of sorrow radiating from him that he couldn't place.

Deciding that ignorance was bliss, he got out of bed and gathered a new set of clothes: the usual sweats and a large t-shirt. He had cut slits in the neckline so that it would fit over his collar.

It took a while to wrestle out of the suit. The flexible but skin-tight fabric did not want to part ways. Nevertheless, after about twenty minutes of fighting with it, the black-and-orange uniform sat defeated in the back of his closest. He tossed the boots in after it.

Finally comfortable, he went to check his reflection.

He no longer had a desk or any other substantial furnishings besides the bed and the makeshift nightstand. Slade still had him on furniture probation. The lamp was replaced, but bolted securely into the slab of rock at his bedside, and another lantern was nailed in the wall next to the burrowed closet. The extra light made his room seem even emptier, fallow.

A jumbled pile of supplies was stacked under the chunk of mirror: athletic wrap, anti-biotic ointment, a massive tub of disinfectant wipes, sterilizing fluid, a needle and thread, several kinds of bandages, and a host of bloodstained towels. His constant need for medical attention forced Slade to provide him with a decent stash of remedies.

Some of the washcloths were soaking in a basin of soapy, pink-tinted water which was silouetted against the cobbled wall. He wrung them out and set them on the bed to dry. Then, he went to check the mirror.

He knew before he looked that it wasn't going to pretty. Crawling through the vent last night was the easy part. Getting past the tripled defenses was another matter. He had taken them down, but he hadn't gotten out unscathed.

In the end, he had to blow up half of Sector 7 to get the guards off his tail.

So, when he saw the smears of soot and dirt and blood streaked across his face, he wasn't surprised. Shallow and deep cuts congregated together like good friends on his forehead and chin. One particularly nasty one ran alongside his cheekbone. It demanded the most attention.

 _Gonna need stitches_ , he thought with a frown.

Grime accompanied the rakes, blending with the dried blood. The bruises hid behind the layers of filth. As he lifted his chin, he noticed a few minor burns—the explosion's doing, no doubt—but his neck seemed altogether whole.

Plucking a disinfecting cloth from the cylindrical, plastic container, he cleaned his face. The subtle sting grew into an eye-watering pain. He inhaled sharply and kept going. It took three rounds to remove the muck and blood; he could finally see his ghostly, pale-blue eyes again. Haunted shadows ran around them. His wintry irises flared brightly against the shaded backdrop.

He snatched up the bandages and applied them. The cut on his cheek would not be so easily cured. With a heavy, annoyed grunt, he prepared the needed tools. He sterilized the needle and weaved the thick, black thread through the eye. He cleaned his hands. He grabbed a towel and shoved it in his mouth.

He assessed the laceration, prodding it gently with his fingers. Pinching the limp, irritated flaps of skin together, he pressed the tip of the needle in; however, before he could puncture it, Slade burst in.

It must have been an odd sight.

There Robin was, a dirty washcloth clenched between his teeth and a needle to his face. Upon seeing Slade, he gasped and spat out the towel. Amused, the villain chuckled lowly. He strode calmly over, plucked the needle from Robin's hand, and motioned for the boy to sit.

"Face toward the wall," Slade commanded as Robin plopped onto the bed.

The boy wonder obeyed with a sense of déjà vu. The scene reminded him of his first night here.

"Here."

Slade offered the same leather strap. Robin took it without complaint. It was better than the rank towel. He placed it between his canines and molars.

"Tilt your head to the right."

Slade's frigid fingers floated across Robin's cheek as he judged the wound. After a minute, he stood straight and took off his gloves. Robin's eyes widened. He had never seen the man beneath before. As expected, Slade's skin was the color of pure snow. The severely pallid pigment was almost translucent; it was hard to look at.

However, Robin caught a splotch of red in his peripheral: bloody knuckles.

Slade leaned in.

"Don't move," he instructed.

Robin stiffened, hardly daring to breathe. He bit down on the leather and curled his hands into fists. When Slade pushed his fingers into the wound, it wasn't the pain that made Robin suddenly flinch, but the cold.

"What did I just say?" Slade snapped.

It was inhuman, how icy those hands were. The man should have been dead! He should have been a corpse!

Robin garbled out an apology, fighting the chatter of his teeth.

"Unless you want a scar on this pretty face of yours, you'll _stay still_ ," Slade growled, his glacial nails pricking.

Before Robin could so much as elicit a grumble of affirmation, Slade had pierced the needle through. Robin's nostrils flared and he gnashed his teeth against the leather. A whimper warbled out of his throat involuntarily.

"Quiet..."

Slade made quick work—a testament to his prolific experience. He soon had the tear cinched and the stitch tied. He unsheathed a hidden army knife and clipped the thread's tail.

When it was over and done, Robin had a pattern of perfect crisscrosses decorating his cheekbone. Even the swelling was minor. He lifted a curious hand to it, tracing the bumpy 'X's.

"If you're done ruining my handiwork," Slade barked, shoving his gloves back on. "I believe it's time for breakfast, bird."

* * *

Several hours later, Robin had his hands on knees. Sweat dripped from his hairline, down his temple, and splashed onto the black gym mat. He panted hard, chest heaving.

Training was going unusually well today. Slade hadn't electrocuted him once and his fighting form was top notch. The two had gone all morning in a continuous spar. They broke their previous brawling record by an hour.

In the end, however, Slade had still bested the boy wonder. Robin's heel had merely slipped an inch, but it was enough of a window for the villain to throw him off balance.

"I suppose that will have to do," Slade commented indifferently as Robin heaved himself to his knees, his ears ringing.

Even after hours of combat, Slade still appeared unruffled. Robin thought he heard a minor exhale of breath slither through the metal slits, but it was hard to tell over the thumping of his heart. Slade's endurance was on a whole other level; Robin wondered if he would ever be able to stand toe-to-toe with him. Hell, even _Bruce_ would have a hard time keeping up.

The thought sent an odd shiver down his spine. He had always believed Batman to be invincible and incorruptible. The man was certainly flawed—Dick was well aware of _that_ particular fact—but the blemishes of his personality never seemed to bleed over into " _The Job._ "

Now, as he tried to gulp in air while kneeling before a man who appeared to need none, Robin's worldviews began to shift beneath his feet. Even if Bruce or the Titans or _anyone_ came for him—would it matter? Was Slade too powerful even for the juggernauts of justice?

Did Robin have _any_ chance at getting out of here?

He knew the answer as soon as he asked the question, for it already been decided: No.

There was no hope. There'd never been. He saw that now.

Slade was never going to let him go. He would kill him before he allowed his prized possession to fall into enemy hands. For that was what Robin was now: a trophy. He had Slade's signature chiseled on his skin. Every inch of him, every fiber, was property of Slade Wilson.

There was nothing to be done about it. Like the subjugated peoples of yore, Robin had been led away from his conquered homeland in chains. He may have been a hero in his house, but no more. His past accomplishments might as well have been a pile of ashes for all the good it did him.

There was no going back.

He knew this and yet the sting of longing still bit him. It wasn't fair. He had been _happy_. He had found his place in the world. He had just begun to fall in love, could still recall the flutter of butterflies swarming in his gut. The darkness of his childhood had dimmed in a new light of day on the horizon.

And then… _cataclysm._

All of it gone. All of it disappeared like sand through his fingers; like a good dream unremembered.

 _It's all my fault_ , he despaired.

He had been able to suppress his conscience for the majority of the day, preferring the bliss of self-enforced ignorance. Yet, as he compared his two masters, his two lives, it was becoming harder to ignore the memories, the shame.

It bubbled up in his brain, tickling the back of his skull.

 _What have I done?_

He snorted and straightened. He ran an angry hand through his chopped hair. He couldn't think about it, now or ever. It would destroy him. There was only a flicker of himself left, a fragile ember. He was already lost, already fading. One more push and he would be obliterated.

So, he stomped down his guilt and morality and waited for the next round. He stared at a spot above Slade's shoulder expectantly.

The villain silently watched Robin's expression darken, saw the internal struggle as clear as day. The boy was far too easy to read—a lesson for another day.

"That's enough for today," he said, tossing a towel at the sweaty teen.

Robin caught it and wrapped it around his neck. His face was suddenly wary. Slade had _never_ cut a sparring session short. He reveled in the superiority of his skill, in bringing woe to the conquered.

"Come," he ordered, gesturing.

Lights switched on above. The dark-gray, rocky walls and floors of the atrium were exposed in the harsh fluorescence. The black plastic of the gym mat glittered. Slade turned and strode in the direction of a tunnel on the western side. Robin had never been allowed access to that corridor.

The sweat on his skin froze. He swallowed thickly as he trotted after Slade. The villain didn't look back as he walked right into the mouth of the tunnel, disappearing into the shadows.

Unnerved, Robin picked up the pace. He squinted as he tried to make out Slade's outline in the oppressive dark. He strained his ears, trying to match Slade's strides.

The man's footsteps were faint _click-click-click_ s, a leaky faucet echoing for miles.

After about ten minutes, Slade finally halted. Robin almost crashed into him, but managed to catch himself by bracing against the curved cavern wall. He heard the rusty creak of a door being yanked open.

"In," came the bodiless command.

Robin took a few cautious steps in the direction of the noise. It wasn't fast enough for Slade. Something grabbed his neck and pushed him, hard. He stumbled forward, his bare feet clapping against concrete.

Blind, he heard the door clang shut. Slade brushed up beside him. An icy hand fell on his shoulder. The trepidation exploded in his chest. This could only be bad.

"Your training is nearly complete," Slade stated and Robin could feel the thrum of his tenor. "Your final lesson awaits."

It was then that Robin heard the whimper. His heart stopped.

A single light switched on.

A man, handcuffed to the floor and badly beaten, kneeled in front of the master and apprentice. A black bag was over his head, but Robin could still detect his muffled sobs. His bare chest and arms were littered with weeping wounds—a canvas covered in red, black, blue, violet, and yellow. His khaki pants were torn and stained with blood. He trembled violently from head to toe.

"Kill him."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I'm on a roll tonight! Thanks for reading! :D**

* * *

 _ **"Black ocean, cold and dark, I am the hungry shark, fast and merciless. But the only girl who could talk to him just couldn't swim. Tell me what's worse than this?"**_

* * *

"Please, let me—!"

"No, Rae."

"You don't understand! If I could just—!"

"Forget it."

Raven huffed in exacerbation.

Ever since Cyborg's revelation, she had tried her best to give Robin a stay of execution, all to no avail. She watched bitterly as the half teenager, half robot planned his strategy.

He was going to set a trap.

Whittling down the possible places where Robin would strike next, he confirmed that the boy wonder still needed one last piece for his potentially disastrous weapon. The plutonium gave the energy needed for nuclear power while the thermal blaster acted as the conduit; however, plutonium was so unstable that it still required further adjustment.

In order for the thermal blaster to house and fire radiation accurately, it required finesse. In short, it needed a particular set of codes that would fix its instability and render it usable. These codes were found only in top secret military compounds that not even the Titans had access to. It took quite a bit of arguing from Cyborg to convince the higher-ups in the federal government that the situation was dire enough to warrant action.

In the end, however, they agreed to Cyborg's demands. For once, it seemed the team had a head-start on Slade.

Raven was not as optimistic.

There was now a "shoot to kill" order on Robin's head. The Teen Titans had the luxury of peaceful restraint when battling criminals, but the United States took these kinds of threats more seriously. If there was any chance of a deranged psychopath getting his paws on a nuclear weapon, they were going to fire first and ask questions later.

The team was a split ticket: Raven and Starfire versus Cyborg and Beast Boy.

Starfire was convinced that Slade was the puppet master and that Robin was a mere pawn in his plans. Raven was not so much adamant about Robin's innocence as she was doubtful of his utter guilt. There was certainly _something_ behind the curtain.

Beast Boy was the swing vote. He hopped on either side of the line, incapable of choosing. When around Cyborg, he agreed that Robin should be taken down—hard. Yet, in Starfire's company, he was far more pacifistic.

It wasn't as though Cyborg was wrong. He used sound logic. S _omeone_ needed to keep things in perspective. While the rest of the team mourned for their lost friend, Cyborg kept his sights on what mattered: saving lives.

His hybrid heart broke for the boy wonder—more than anyone knew—but he couldn't allow his despair to distract him from the fact that millions of people could be on the brink of destruction. The greater good had to be respected, no matter the heartbreak.

It was intensely practical…and utterly annoying.

Starfire and Raven argued that if Robin was recovered and reconverted, then the nuclear problem had a better chance of being neutralized. Cyborg—and occasionally Beast Boy—countered that even if the Titans did manage to rescue Robin and bring him back into the fold, Slade still possessed two out of the three components of Apocalypse.

As long as Robin worked for Slade, his needs would have to be subverted; he had to be stopped.

So, Cyborg and the premiere generals hammered out a plan that would take out Slade's ace in the hole. Without appearing too overt, they would relax their security by a hair at one of their bunkers, hoping to entice Slade. An ambush would be set.

If Robin came, they would spring him. Once he was subdued, the interrogations would begin. They would have to break him, if necessary; he would have to spill Slade's secrets. Then, using that information, they would raid the haunt and recover the thermal blaster and plutonium.

The only wrinkle in the entire scheme was Robin's punishment.

After alerting the proper authorities, consequences were in store for the boy wonder. Cyborg had argued with them on this point and did succeed in getting the death penalty off the table, but life in prison was still a given. If Robin was detained in his custody, he would have no choice but to hand the boy wonder over to the feds.

This is where Raven and Starfire stepped in.

They still had no idea what possessed Robin to act the way he did. He could be a victim, one in desperate need of help. How could they recover him only to lock him back up?

It wasn't right; it was injustice incarnate.

Raven begged Cyborg for one last chance at making contact with Robin before they pulled the trigger.

He wouldn't listen.

"I'm telling you—"

"Raven!" Cyborg snapped, turning away from the mainframe computer. "Enough! I know this sucks— _really, really_ sucks—but this is where we are. So what if Robin's innocent? I can't take that chance! And neither can you!"

"This is a mistake!" she hissed. "We have no idea what could happen! Robin could be killed! Then, what? We're left with a dead friend _and_ no Slade. If you would just let me talk to him—!"

"And just how do you plan to do that?!" he barked back, his electrical red eye flashing.

This was the tricky part. In her desperation, she hadn't worked out the details.

"I-I'm not sure," she admitted, much to her chagrin.

Cyborg snorted spitefully.

"That's _great_ , Rae," he spat, pivoting back to the screen. "Shit, I'm sold."

"Screw you!" she snarled, hands balling into fists at her sides. "Just because—AH!"

 _thump!_

"Raven?"

The malice was gone from Cyborg's voice as he flipped around. Raven had collapsed. Her eyes were completely black. They sparkled like obsidian stones. Shadowy ravens flitted about her. Their smoky wings left starlit trails in the twilight air. Faint caws chimed softly from an unknown source. The tickle of magic wafted against Cyborg's dark chocolate cheek.

She was as still as a corpse. Her onyx stare was faraway, unseeing. Her violet cloak and hair fluttered in an invisible breeze. She began to float. Her toes grazed the ground. Her head dangled. Her fingers twitched as if playing an instrument.

Her raven avatars started to encircle her in an aggressive, protective flock. Tendrils of midnight black slithered out of her skin and disappeared through the roof.

"Rae?" Cyborg pondered dumbly and then, gaining his wits: "TITANS!"

* * *

"Kill him."

As soon as Slade put Robin's worst fear into words, the teen lost feeling in his legs. His knees shook like trees in a hurricane as he peered down at the man that he would be forced to kill. He looked so…so… _normal._

He had the body of a father: a little pudge in the midsection, trim legs, wiry arms, patches of dark brown chest hair...and a thick, gold band on his ring finger. His khakis spoke of Little League, of carpool, of nine-to-five workdays. He wept softly as Robin studied him. He wondered how many children this man had, how long he'd been married to his wife, what he had done to upset the masked psychopath standing before him.

"What did he do?" Robin whispered.

Slade's loosened his grip on his shoulder. He stepped forward, sliding up behind the cowering man. With a flourish of his wrist, the black sack was removed, revealing the identity beneath.

With an odd sense of relief, Robin did not recognize him.

He was not handsome, but he wasn't ugly either. It was hard to tell, what with the grotesquely broken nose, fat lip, and swollen-shut eye. The thinning hair on his head matched the wiry ones on his chest. His eyes were of similar color with sparks of green flicked through the brown. He had a smear of stubble on his bloodied cheeks.

 _He's been here for days_ , Robin concluded. _Maybe longer_.

"It doesn't matter, apprentice," Slade responded coldly.

He then clamped onto the man's hair and wrenched. With a pathetic cry, the poor soul's neck was bent backward, his throat exposed and inviting. The chains around his wrists jingled and pealed as they smacked into the concrete. His Adam's Apple bobbed like a yo-yo. His big, heavy-lidded eyes were filled with disgusting fright. Concussed, he muttered incoherent supplications.

"What matters is that your master just gave you a _direct_ order," Slade concluded, remorseless. "Kill. Him. Now."

Robin's tongue tingled. His face felt as if he had just been riding side-saddle on a jet. The numbness in his legs was creeping up into his hips. His stomach twisted.

He was going to vomit.

His flesh turned green, the shade of Beast Boy. He saw double, through a tunnel, upside down—vertigo.

"I-I-I can't…" he choked, swallowing bile.

Before Slade could stop him, he bolted for the door. Past experience told him that this was the worst possible idea. He ignored it and ran anyway. He was flying, not fighting. He heard a toe-curling hiss sound behind him as he twisted the handle.

The door was unlocked.

Euphoria and adrenaline made his hands shake horribly but he managed to throw the door open. Slade's footsteps were fast approaching. He leapt into the pitch-black hallway and slammed the door shut behind him.

He ran.

Blind, he somehow managed to stay on his feet as he dashed to the right, toward the atrium. Their journey here had been a straight shot, luckily. Where he went after he reached the end of the tunnel was still a mystery. He didn't care, he couldn't. His bare heels bruised against the hard, cobbled ground. His breath was hitched and loud.

Slade was stronger, but he was faster—and he had a ten second jump.

The sound of metal crashing against stone echoed up and down the cavern.

 _FLY. FLY. FLY. FLY!_ His blood screamed, wailed.

A small sparkle of light appeared on the horizon. He knew there was nowhere to go once he lost the anonymity of the dark. Everything buzzed, saltwater splashed up his esophagus. The rush of fear flowing through his entire being was indescribable. It was like every cell was simultaneously imploding. He _became_ an earthquake; he could feel the tectonic plates of his skeleton crashing together.

As he sprinted into the light, he didn't stop.

 _CLIMB!_ His brain cried.

Without breaking stride, he charged up the shallow steps that skirted the northern wall. He catapulted off the final step and his hands snagged the catwalk's edge. He swung onto the platform. Another metal plateau rose up above him. He hopped onto the iron banister and leapfrogged to the next tier.

Conquering that, he was out of catwalks. The entrance was locked. There was no way he could hack it.

He looked up and saw pipes zigzagging up to the ceiling.

Without another thought, he got a running start and vaulted off the handrail. He managed to grab hold of the surprisingly sturdy pipe. He then swung from line to line, inching toward the top. With dizzying shock, he realized there was a massive fan twirling in the far corner, tucked away behind shadow and industry.

The massive cogs below were disappearing as he shimmied and scrambled and soared. An idiotic hope was trilling through his heart. He didn't hear anything; his ears were clogged with adrenaline-induced desperation. He never once slipped. He never once questioned his footing or grip.

The ominous, whirring fan was just ahead, ten yards. He saw the pipe he would need to swing off from to reach it, saw himself escaping through the miracle hole in the wall; however, as he made his way to the final obstacle, he realized his grave error.

The blades of the fan moved too fast. He would never make it past. Mind reeling, he straddled the pipe he was on and tried to formulate an idea. He needed to disable the fan. If he had had any of his usual tools on him, this would have been a cinch. Hell, even a _chunk of rock_ would have served his purposes.

He couldn't dismantle anything this high in the air. He couldn't go back down.

He was well and truly stuck.

Naturally, that was when logic reappeared.

He was at least six stories up, maybe more. The gusts from the fan whistled in his ears and surged unnervingly through his hair. He swayed on the pipe and prayed it would hold his weight.

He had nothing but the sweat of his brow and the skin on his back—plus a pair of pants. He even considered stripping and throwing them into the fan, but the material was too light. The fabric would be shredded like tissue paper.

Then, he recognized an even worse mistake.

He gasped and lifted a hand to his neck.

 _The collar._

Slade could shock him right now and Robin would be helpless as he toppled from the towering pipe and free-fell. Or, his master could invoke the more sinister power of the shackles, taking over Robin's body and simply guiding him down without a fuss.

So why hadn't he?

Suddenly, he heard the very thing he had been dreading.

 _Swish. Swish. Swish._

Eyes wide with horror, he glanced down and saw a silver-lined body cavorting through the gloom thirty feet down. It was gaining fast.

Slade was going to catch him.

The panic returned. His brain beat against his skull. His heart tried to flee from his ribcage. He did not blame it.

 _HELP! HELP! HELP!_

A sigh sounded on the air. He whipped his head around. Was Slade already upon him?

A blur of starry black filtered through the fan. It swarmed around him like a fog and sunk into his skin.

" _Robin_ ," Raven sang in his head. " _Don't be afraid. I'm here to help_."

Too paralyzed with confusion and fear, he had no defense against her magic. Her witchcraft talons dug into his mind, sank their teeth into him. She tied their consciousnesses together—an indestructible bond. He howled at her to stop, but she had already pushed him out.

He barely managed to grab hold of the pipe, clinging to it with all his strength to keep himself upright. Like a fast-moving shadow, she danced along the walls of his subconscious, gathering all his secrets.

" _Oh, no…_ " she whispered, her ethereal voice aghast as she witnessed his memories. " _…Robin…Slade…he…I'm so sorry._ "

It was overwhelming—the pain. It was almost too much for her, but she refused to leave without absorbing every last detail that could save his life. She didn't process the images that sprang across his stream of consciousness. She merely catalogued.

" _Robin, where are you? I don't see…"_

He gritted his teeth.

" _I don't know,"_ he responded, defeated and strained. _"Below ground. Near the water. Slade always—"_

" _Ah, I see it now,"_ she finished. " _He changes the meeting places. Never lets you get your bearings or sense of direction. Smart."_

" _Raven, you can't save me_ ," he told her, desperate. " _I'll never be free. I **shouldn't** be free."_

" _That's bullshit!"_ she snapped at him, incensed.

" _You don't know…you don't understand...what I've done…"_

" _Actually, I know exactly what you've done and that's still bullshit."_

" _He's going to make me kill, Raven!"_ he screeched, trying to wrestle control back. _"Did you_ _ **see**_ _that?! He's going to make me kill!"_

" _We'll get you out of there, Robin! Please, just hold—!"_

"There you are."

" _Is that…?"_

" _RAVEN GO NOW!"_

" _I won't leave you!"_

" _HE'LL DESTROY YOU! HE'LL KILL EVERYONE! GO!"_

" _I won't—"_

"Did you really think you could escape, bird?" Slade's voice was calm, but a merciless anger coursed beneath the surface. "I think those wings are in need of clipping."

" _RAVEN PLEASE!"_ he begged as Slade crouched on the pipe directly behind him, ready to spring. _"BEFORE HE SEES YOU WERE HERE!"_

" _We will save you,"_ she promised after a hesitant pause.

"Ready or not, here I come."

Robin could tell she was trying not to weep. Her monotone voice was thick with oncoming tears. Raven never cried; he had never seen her cry, couldn't imagine it in his mind's eye. The sound was unbearable.

" _Go,"_ he commanded sadly. _"That's an order."_

Her presence lifted. He watched the moonlit smoke dissipate into the air without a trace. He closed his eyes. The pipe rattled beneath him.

His lids were still shut bravely when Slade wrapped a hand around his throat.


	17. Chapter 17

**_"I'm evil to the core. What I shouldn't do I will. They say I'm emotional. What I want to save I'll kill. Is that who I truly am? I truly don't have a chance..."_**

* * *

Fingers curled around his neck, Slade yanked Robin backward. The boy wonder struggled and flailed instinctively. The pipe swayed as the two thrashed about.

Robin's nails clawed at the iron. White, jagged scratches imprinted it as he was pulled. It was no use. Unable to hold out against the villain's inhuman strength, he was snatched away.

Arms wound tight against his torso like boa-constrictors. His back was crushed against Slade's chest.

"Shh…" Slade whispered in his ear.

His ribcage groaned in protest against the devastating pressure. It was soon impossible to move, to wriggle. His legs dangled seventy feet above ground, swaying limply. In the coils of the snake, the bird suffocated. His chirps became choked whimpers.

"You know, Robin," Slade hissed, his copper chin grazing the boy's trembling cheek. "I must confess that I'm in a bit of a predicament here."

Sharp elbows dug into his sternum. His eyes watered. His brain cried for air.

"I can't _kill_ you," Slade mused. "But I also can't allow this _gross_ act of defiance to go unpunished. What to do, what to do…"

It wasn't as if Robin could answer him. His lungs had just enough room for a small passage of air to leak in and out of his chest. The arms that wrapped around him squeezed, perpetually pulverizing.

"Oh, I know."

Suddenly leaping onto the rail with Robin in tow, Slade held the boy over undefiled airspace and dropped him.

Life Lucifer, like Icarus—he fell.

Gravity sunk its hook into his flesh and dragged him down to earth. Industrial wind smacked against his free-falling face. He couldn't see a thing as he plummeted, blurs of fast-moving black. A network of pipes appeared suddenly below him, careened toward him.

Flailing, he tried to grab a hold of them, tried to buffer his fall. He caught onto one, but couldn't keep his grip. He was soon thrown about like a ship on rocks; his body smacked helter-skelter against the spiraling rails.

He awkwardly cavorted, trying to stall his speed before he became a smear on the floor. The iron clashed against his bones and shattered as he was dashed against it. He heard cracks, felt jabs of pain splinter up his sides. His skull hit metal and created a booming echo. Disturbing warmth seeped down the back of his neck.

His vision went blurry. Every pipe was just out of reach. His arms became heavy and his head, groggy.

The ground was fast approaching. The glitter of the familiar gym mat shone in his peripheral.

Ten feet from the concrete, something snagged onto his waist and yanked him to a halt. His neck snapped unpleasantly, but didn't break. He peered, dazed, at the face of the rocky floor. His mind was blank, devoid.

Then, whatever was keeping him airborne released him. He collided with the ground. Although the drop was only a few yards, it was still painful. Thankfully, he managed to land on his shoulder rather than his head. His hipbone crackled and moaned as it ricocheted against the cold, rough stone.

When at last his body had stilled and feeling had returned to his flesh, he was able to breathe again. He gulped up oxygen in horrible, thirsty gasps. He rolled onto his back, eyes wide and overcome. Everything was jarred back to life in one awkward rush. Darkness edged the corner of his vision, encroaching. Mindlessly, his hands patted the dirty floor, wanting to feel the safety of the static ground; however, it was quickly becoming more dangerous.

Paralyzed, he didn't have the brain power to comprehend that Slade was quickly descending from the rafters above.

Hard, leather boots pounded alarmingly into the floor, shaking it. The sudden jolt ignited the fear in his heart. Still completely stunned with dumb adrenaline, his feeble attempt at scrambling to his feet was embarrassing.

Palms ripping, he fell twice and had to settle for a crawl. His body trembled and quivered. He didn't feel human; he was reduced to the basest of animals.

With smooth, calm strides, Slade came alongside him—an omen.

"Hm, that wasn't as satisfying as I hoped," he deliberated with an accent of disappointment.

The boy was still pathetically trying to get away. He ambled in no direction and shuffled at the speed of a tortoise while on all fours.

"But I do enjoy watching you _squirm._ "

With that, Slade gave Robin a swift kick to the gut. The boy wonder merely whimpered and curled into himself, unable to process the pain. With a soft sigh, Slade squatted down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Remember, dear boy, this hurts me more than it hurts you," he explained, cocking his metal, skeletal head. "We had been making such _progress_ but I suppose I can only blame myself. Maybe you aren't who I thought you were. I have been wrong before."

Robin's cloudy eyes widened. Slade spoke through a faraway tunnel; he could barely make out the man's words. Safe to say, he didn't like where this conversation was going, but his tongue was deactivated and dry. His mind was becoming clearer, but his body remained in shock—worthless and stubborn.

Slade's islandic, indigo iris flicked up into the far corner of his eye as he pondered.

"No, I think not," he surmised after a moment, giving Robin's shoulder a squeeze. "You've already proven yourself to be the perfect apprentice. All that's missing is… _incentive_."

Slade stood and held up his vambrace to his chest. He jabbed a button.

The screens on the southern wall flickered to life. Four different images filled up the monitors: a live feed of red blood cells racing unassumingly from vein to vein, artery to artery. Blearily, Robin recognized the names labeling the tops of the displays: Beast Boy, Cyborg, Raven, Starfire.

"Here's what's going to happen," Slade stated happily. "You have…oh, let's say ten, no— _six_ minutes to kill that waste of a life down the hall or the Titans die. I had hoped that you would be the one to end them, but we can't always get what we want, can we?"

Spluttering, using all of his effort to force his mouth to work, Robin made pitiful gurgles.

"Your time starts…"

"Sla-sla-d-d-e…w-a-a—" Robin choked, begging.

The villain's eye swerved coolly in his direction.

"…now."

Pushing off from the ground, Robin had no idea how he was able to stagger to an upright position, much less run. He veered haphazardly as he sprinted, crashing into the cobbled wall when he reached the face of the tunnel. He didn't so much as take a moment to steady himself before continuing his mad, mad dash.

Nothing sounded in his brain; no worthy thought bubbled to the surface. His body was still confused and utterly disoriented as well as wounded. His heart, however, was beating a wartime drum:

 _Save them! Save them! Save them!_ It shrieked—blowing the whistle that sent him over the top and into battle.

It was this desire, this selfish love, which spurred his bleeding, battered feet. It was almost supernatural, magical. It was if all power and authority had shifted from the dual powers of his brain and body to his volatile heart.

Despite evidence to the contrary, Robin was tied irrevocably to the Titans. He _was_ going to save them and _no one_ was going to get in his way—not even an innocent life. He had not suffered this much just to watch them die.

The cavern was awfully dark, but he stuck close to the left side, his fingers running across the stones, feeling for the entryway.

His hand hit air—the iron door was still open. At the same moment, a faint sparkle blinked in his murky peripheral. The light was still on.

He rounded the corner and rushed into the room.

The black sack sat crumpled on the ground; the man's face was still exposed. When Robin entered, the stranger's one, undamaged, brown-green eye widened. A flash of hope galloped through it when he noticed that Slade had not returned. His surprised brow was lost in a blizzard of bruises and blood.

For a moment, he thought the mysterious boy was on his side.

"Who are you? What's going on? Is _he_ gone?" the man blabbered.

His low voice was scratched and his words were garbled by his swollen, cut-up lip.

Robin said nothing as he approached. The man became more frantic. The hope died in his expression, but he tried again.

"Please! Get me out of here! I haven't done anything! Help me! PLEASE!"

Still Robin made no reply. He stepped into the ring of light and went to stand behind Slade's prisoner who then began to weep. Trails of tears sped down his dirty, bloodstained face.

"I have a wife…a son…please…" he blubbered, shoulders shaking. "Don't do—"

In one swift movement, Robin snapped his neck.


	18. Chapter 18

_**"I took you home. Set you on the glass. I pulled off your wings. Then I laughed."**_

* * *

Raven came back to her body with a start.

Floating a foot in the air, she gasped and collapsed to the carpeted ground, landing on her back. The magical projections of her soul-self—the small, smoky ravens that had enveloped her entranced body—dissolved with faint squawks at her return. The spectral embers they left behind dissipated into the air like snuffed candles.

She was trembling all over. Cold sweat laced her forehead. Her damp, lavender hair stuck to her temples, her chin. Robin's mind had been overwhelming; his anguish clung to her, burrowed deep. She couldn't shake it.

"Guys! She's back!" came a frantic squeak.

Beast Boy was the first to reach her. His delicate, adolescent face peered down in comical concern. His lower fang tugged at his upper lip. He offered a wary hand.

"G-give me a second…" Raven whispered, closing her eyes.

There was so much. A hundred different images and impressions flicked through her brain like a rapid-fire slideshow, each picture more horrible than the last:

Slade's murderous eye flashing as it invented horrors; broken, bloody nails; Robin's body flopping spastically as he was electrocuted into submission; a barren room with dull, dank brick walls; a budding fear and a dwindling hope; Robin staring at his abused face in a cracked and dusty mirror; the glitter of scissors and the buzz of a razor; a monster's hand reaching out from the deep dark; a man with a sack over his head and bruises littering his suburban body…

" _He's going to make me kill, Raven!"_ Robin's voice screamed, reverberating through her mind like the toll of a bell.

Her eyes snapped open. She bolted upright. Starfire and Cyborg had entered onto the scene alongside Beast Boy, leaning in. They all recoiled at her sudden movement.

"Er…Raven?" Cyborg pondered cautiously. "You ok?"

She peered at him with remarkably calm confidence. The colorless, sickly tint to her cheeks was slowly warming back to its usual pale blush. A newfound energy was crackling through her dark, purple-blue stare. Her expression was grave and utterly determined. She was regaining control of her senses, distancing herself from Robin's initial, powerful imprint.

Finally, she understood. The cloud of mystery was clearing. She could see the ground beneath her feet again; she glanced at the path that lay ahead.

With a savage glee, she had confirmed her original suspicions. She had been right all along: Robin needed saving; he wasn't a traitor.

This affirmation made her bold, hopeful.

"Robin," she explained cryptically, her thoughts buzzing with ideas.

"Yeah, what about him?"

She reached back, pulled her hood up, and positioned it into its proper place. She stood and dusted off, adjusting her wrinkled uniform.

"I know how we're going to save him," she explained simply with a victorious smirk.

* * *

Underneath dark layers of earth, Robin was not as cheered as Raven.

Having just killed a man for the first time, he felt oddly nonplussed.

He should have been more contrite, more tormented. He waited for a debilitating self-hatred that did not come. Why wasn't he beating his chest—crying, shouting, raging? The man's wife and son now had to go through life without a husband and father. And _he_ was the sole reason behind it!

He should want to die. The guilt should have been tying a noose around his neck.

Instead, he merely stared at his hands—hands that were now instruments of murder. His fingers wiggled just the same; they had not changed since the wicked act. It unnerved him. They should have appeared more decrepit and sinister—like the gnarled limbs of a bare tree, like a black widow's legs, like monstrous tentacles.

He flexed them, trying to see their evil.

He watched his wrist bone rotate as it struggled hopelessly against the steel braces. He studied how his knuckles obeyed his mindless commands—hinging and straightening, hinging and straightening. His nails were unpleasantly short; he had a bad habit of biting them. The skin was pale and clung sadly to its skeletal framework.

These were hands to be pitied, not feared. And yet he _did_ fear them.

Would they transform into Slade's corpse-cold ones at any moment? Would they want to kill again, now that they had a taste?

That thought sent a horrid shiver down his spine.

So entranced by the nature of his hands, he did not look up when his master walked in.

Slade took a moment to appreciate the corpse sprawled in the center of the room before stepping over it—as if it were a petty hindrance—and joining Robin. The boy's exposed cobalt eyes were wide and bewildered. His faraway stare was vaguely fixed on his hands, which were perpetually bending and stretching.

"The first time is always the hardest," Slade explained, understanding danced across his eye. "But don't worry. You'll get used to it."

Robin flinched at the sound of the villain's voice. He had not heard him come in.

"Get used to it?" he pondered distantly, unable to comprehend what his master was implying.

Slade bit back a chuckle.

"Of course," he asserted, clasping his hands behind him. "Your apprenticeship wouldn't be complete without a mastery of the deadly arts. Agility and endurance are all well and good, but they can only go so far. To truly become my weapon, you must be… _lethal_."

Robin waited for a sense of shock. He tried to coax the feeling out. It would not come.

He was numb.

Slade then turned his attention to the body splayed behind him. He lowered to the ground and examined the dead man.

"Good…" he muttered absently, tossing the broken neck between his palms and feeling the vertebrae with his fingers. "A clean break. Did you know, Robin, that snapping someone's neck doesn't kill them instantly? It only cuts off blood flow and air to the brain. The victim can remain alive for minutes—days even—afterward. In _his_ case…"

He took another minute to prod and poke and shift the lifeless cadaver with the khaki pants. Slade felt for a pulse and nodded.

"I'd say he died shortly after I arrived," he guessed as he rose back to his feet. "Granted, he was unconscious for most of it, but it's sill something to think about."

"Think about?"

Slade peered at Robin over his shoulder. The boy's hands were now limp at his sides. His expression remained dazed. It was clear he was in denial.

"You're strong, yes, but you lack finesse," Slade critiqued, stroking the slits of his metal mask. "After all, you can't break necks forever. Close range like that is a luxury."

He placed a hand on Robin's slumped, frozen shoulder. An almost giddy pleasure was shining in his eye, electrifying through his blood, as he stared proudly down at his apprentice.

"I can teach you how to kill from every possible angle," he prophesized. "You'll know which arteries bleed the quickest when cut and how to strangle an opponent that weighs twice as much as you. You'll develop your own style—whether it's guns or knives or your bare hands. By the end, it'll be as easy as breathing."

Robin sucked in a gulp of air to accentuate that point. At the moment, breathing was quite hard. His lungs were seizing up. His throat closed. It was all too much. His system was cracking, shattering. He was a fish out of water.

Slade sighed in mild exacerbation, noticing the signs of a swoon.

It was the last sound Robin heard before his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

He fainted.


	19. Chapter 19

_**"Temperature is dropping. I'm not sure if I can see this ever stopping. Shaking hands with the dark parts of my thoughts. No. You are all that I got. No. Don't forget about me."**_

* * *

 _The next day_

Robin went from one nightmare to another.

The screams of the man he killed were burned into his psyche. Raven's promises fell on deaf ears; he couldn't hear her reassurances over the sobs of his victim.

He withdrew deep into himself. Like a dying star, his core became a knot of anger and pain and sorrow while his shell exuded an apathetic light. He was disappearing. The remorse never came. He justified his kill and claimed he did it to protect those he loved.

Perhaps this was true, but the day was fast approaching when he wouldn't be able to hide behind that excuse any longer. Slade was promising a high body count. The greater good would turn against him as the numbers evened out.

If he was truly a hero, he would have sacrificed himself—and the Titans—before destroying an innocent life. It was the contract they all signed, the unspoken bargain of every supposed pursuer of justice.

But he couldn't do it.

Call it love, call it selfish, call it ignorance; Robin realized he would do anything to save them—including murder. Bruce would have excommunicated him for such blasphemy. Nevertheless, it was this terrible, bittersweet truth that Slade exploited to the fullest. As long as he held the Titans over the boy wonder's head, he could make Robin do _anything_ and he knew it.

There was no longer a third way. Robin stood before two paths that went in opposite directions: a devoted love and an idealistic code. Yesterday had sealed his fate. He chose love and, therefore, chose to become the Devil's apprentice.

Despite the decision, he began to resent those who had forced him down that despicable road.

While he was drowning in an endless, black sea of horrors, the Titans appeared oblivious. It was only after a month of Hell that Raven decided to show up and, even then, she was powerless to help him. He had literally killed for them, but what were they doing for him? Did they even care? They _knew_. They had to know that he was Slade's prisoner. They _saw_ the bruises, saw the hallmarks of a suffering slave, and yet they did nothing.

What were they waiting for? What were they doing? How could they leave him? Did they honestly believe he had turned evil? Just like that?

Even worse, with Raven's discovery the Titans had to be aware of all his secrets: the probes, the collar, the turmoil, everything!

 _Where are you?!_ he called in his mind for the millionth time that day, hoping she would answer. _RAVEN!_

All was silent—a vacant deity.

He slid to the ground and put his head in his hands. His eyes were wide and dry. He was frightened. The awful prophecy hung over him like a guillotine blade. If he resisted, people died. If he complied, people died. Death's train sped on, undaunted, as it careened toward him.

He would have to be ruthless, merciless—something he wasn't sure he could be.

He bit his scabbed lip and sniffed. He ran quivering fingers through his tousled hair. He inhaled and exhaled deeply. He could not be divided. If he defied Slade, he would have to accept that he could not save his family. He would have to come to terms with their demise, with a lonely lifetime.

This idea was impossible for him to stomach. So, he continued down his chosen path. His heart gave a final twist. Demoralized, he leaned his head against the brick.

"Raven," he pleaded to his bedroom's curved, cobbled ceiling. "Don't leave me here alone..."

* * *

The atrium was pitch-black save one, bright light.

Slade and Robin stood side-by-side, illuminated.

In front of them was another topless man, stretched out on a metal gurney. He was healthier, fresher. His skin was tanned and whole, albeit dirty. He had a young face, but he was surely in his 30s or early 40s. Crow's feet sprouted from the edges of his eyes. There was no wedding band on his finger. He had the aura of a beach bachelor—a common sight in Jump City.

Fading tan lines decorated his lean torso. He wore slouchy, cargo shorts and had several woven, leather bracelets tied around his handcuffed wrists. His dirty-blonde hair was chin-length and tangled. Matted strands stuck to his sweaty forehead. His cries were muffled by copious amounts of duck-tape.

"First lesson," Slade announced, crossing his arms.

Tears dripped down the man's leathered cheeks and plinked as they hit the steel worktable.

Robin looked away, focusing his entire attention on the empty dark. He was dressed in the usual: sweats, no shirt, athletic tape wrapped around his hands and feet. There were several layers of bags under his eyes—he hadn't slept since he fainted.

 _Raven. Raven. Raven._ went the mantra in his mind. _Help. Help. Help._

"Now, Robin, pay attention," Slade censured, walking around to the head of the table. "This is important."

The villain placed uncaring hands on the man's sunburned shoulders. Grudgingly, Robin turned his head. He focused only on the black-and-copper mask, ignoring the trembling victim beneath.

"While breaking a neck is certainly _fun_ , it's far too unreliable," Slade continued with an amused tone. "The amount of strength it requires makes it _almost_ impossible. That's why, today, we'll be working with knives."

Slade gestured to the surgeon's stand beside him. An impressive assortment of blades sat upon it, ready and waiting.

"Knives are versatile, easy to use, and provide endless possibilities," the villain explained matter-of-factly. "For example…"

Slade snatched up a sleek dagger. As he did, a bead of sweat sped down the back of Robin's neck. His apprehension was nothing compared to the bound-and-gagged man's. The poor thing began to thrash and yank helplessly against the restraints. His smothered shrieks echoed.

 _Raven. Raven. Raven!_

Unperturbed, Slade rested a steadying hand on the victim's chest. He lowered the knife and positioned it just above the right eyebrow.

"The trigeminal nerve," he clarified as he tapped the tip of the blade on the man's forehead. "Not fatal, but it has its uses."

Accentuating that point, he sliced into the skin. Instantly, the man began to scream—a beastly, guttural one. His back arched and his fettered head convulsed. His eyes squeezed shut. The cut was small, but the pain wasn't. Red tears dripped down into his orbital socket and leaked into his hairline.

 _RAVEN! RAVEN! RAVEN! PLEASE!_ Robin begged in his head.

Ignoring all this, Slade then proceeded to give a lesson in anatomy. He used the dagger as if it were a teacher's pointer, referring to key arteries and nerves all along the body. He explained the benefits and negatives of each: the pain they caused, how fast they bled out, which one to aim for, and so on.

All the complex yet similar-sounding names blurred together.

"Let's review," Slade said after he reached the bottoms of the feet. "Which artery supplies blood to the face and neck?"

Robin furrowed his brow. Although his expression was mundane, his thoughts raced and danced in a chaotic whirlwind. He went with his gut.

"Er...the carotid artery?" he guessed, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

Slade's eye shimmered cryptically.

"Excellent, Robin," he finally praised, stepping back into place beside him.

His relief was short-lived as Slade offered him the knife.

"Now cut it."

Lip trembling, Robin gingerly took the handle of the blade. His hand shook. He felt his face pale as blood fled from it. He worried that he would faint again. His mouth went dry. The knife was supposed to be light but it felt like an anchor in his hand, dragging him to the darkest parts of himself.

He turned toward victim #2 and every thought sped from his head.

He swallowed and tightened his grasp on the hilt, trying not to drop it.

"I'm waiting," Slade reminded him cruelly.

Still Robin made no movement. He was frozen. This was so much worse than last time. Before, he had been running on pure adrenaline _and_ a possible concussion. The kill had been spur of the moment, a crime of deranged passion.

But this…this was methodical _slaughter_.

Robin took a half-step back.

Slade made a noise of frustration.

" _Must_ we go through this again?" he snapped.

Disgusted and infuriated, he uncovered the control panel beneath his armored forearm. He pressed a button and the red joystick that had haunted Robin's memories sprang out. It rested unassumingly in Slade's eager palm.

"Ten…nine…" the villain began to countdown without warning.

"Wait!" Robin stammered.

 _YOU PROMISED RAVEN! YOU PROMISED!_

"…seven…six… _five_ …"

Without another second's hesitation, Robin pressed the blade into the man's neck and slashed. He saw the silver tip of the dagger disappear underneath the gushing red and emerge, stained. The man's surprised cries turned to gurgles as he drowned. Blood spurted into the air. Robin flinched as droplets sprayed his face. The blood was disturbingly warm as it dribbled down his cheeks—a summertime rain. A crimson, toothless smile stretched across the man's throat, spitting scarlet.

Robin watched in mute shock as eyes that once held life and purpose dimmed to glassy orbs. The flooding river of blood slowed to a steady stream. The man's sun-kissed head slumped over. His dead stare was fixed on Robin—an accusation.

Stunned, the boy wonder had little time to mourn.

He soon found himself on the floor. A cold hand wrapped around his skull and forced him viciously into the concrete. The bloody knife flew from his grasp and clanged somewhere in the distance. His cheek bruised and frayed as it skidded against the rock, stinging.

"When I tell you to do something, you do it," Slade's voice ordered mercilessly from above. "Hesitate again, and my thumb might just _slip_. Am I understood?"

His throat shot, Robin gave a jerk of his chin.

"What do we say?" Slade patronized.

"Yes...master…" Robin hissed.

"Good boy."

The pressure on his head lifted. He recoiled from the ground and scrambled to stand. He shook his head and touched his cheek, assessing the damage. His hands came back stained with red, but most of it wasn't his.

A consistent current of blood poured over the table's edge. A small pool was forming on the floor. Slade stood over the corpse, his back to Robin. He had his fingers on either side of the man's jaw, adjusting its position so that he could see the wound better.

"Clean cut…" he observed, entranced. "A little shallow…"

Wincing, Robin wiped the blood off on his pants.

Suddenly a thought sprang into his head as his gaze wandered over to the equipment table. A dozen glittering knives were just within his reach. His eyes flicked from Slade's unaware backside to the tantalizing blades.

 _Kill him_ , a dark voice whispered in his ear. _Kill him now._

He bit his lip. He wasn't sure. He couldn't. It was impossible, right?

 _Kill him. You can do it. Kill him._

But...

 _This could be your only chance! Kill him!_

His heart ramped up its speed. His eyes darted back and forth, back and forth. He chewed on his nails. The hilts sparkled, winked, beckoned. If he was fast enough maybe...just maybe...

 _You're already a murderer. What's one more?_

That sealed it. He pounced and his palm curled around cold steel.

Slade was waiting for him. Robin would have been a fool _not_ to try—and his apprentice was no simpleton.

He spun around just as Robin was about to bring the weapon crashing down. He snatched the boy's wrist and held him back easily. With slow, deliberate movements, he pried Robin's hand open and the knife clattered to the ground. The apprentice was still no match for the master. Robin gave a useless tug, caught red-handed.

In response, Slade pulled him closer until their mismatched faces were mere inches from one another.

"Robin," he whispered and for once Robin could feel the chill of his breath. "That was vicious, dishonorable, and ruthless…"

The villain then socked him in the gut.

Robin fell to all fours, gasping. The air was stolen from his lungs. It had been awhile since he had had the pleasure of receiving Slade's full strength. The punch was otherworldly—a complete stunner. His stomach was throbbing as if ready to explode. A gnawing hurt was overtaking his senses, dulling his mind.

"… _excellent work_ ," Slade congratulated from above, obviously pleased with himself. "You're becoming more like me every second."

Horrified, Robin hung his head.

He couldn't deny it.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Y'all are just the sweetest and I appreciate all of your reviews immensely. This chapter is a little lighter...or is it? You decide. :)**

* * *

 _ **"I can tell just what you want. You don't want to be alone. And I can say it's what you know, but you've known it the whole time."**_

* * *

Raven's fingers were curled tightly around her mug of herbal tea. Her knuckles were white. Her hands shook.

 _"RAVEN! WHERE ARE YOU?"_ Robin's voice shrieked at her.

She flinched.

His despair and fear were as clear as bells as they traveled down the psychic line. It took all of her dwindling concentration not to respond to him, whether in feeling or thought. She hadn't slept, had barely eaten, for two days now. Every time she tried to rest, Robin would howl at her through the mind-link. His feelings ebbed and flowed, spiked and flat-lined. She couldn't establish a pattern. One second he was shrieking like a banshee, begging for her help, and the next he was as stony and silent as a mountain.

The few impressions she witnessed were horrible enough to make her toes curl and her stomach churn.

A particularly bad episode was plaguing her at the moment.

 _"RAVEN! PLEASE! YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T LEAVE ME HERE! YOU PROMISED!"_

A strangled sob escaped her clasped mouth. It was not her own.

 _"NO! I DON'T WANT TO! I DON'T WANT TO! I DON'T WANT TO!"_

The image of a raised katana sprang into her mind's eye. The silver blade sparkled ominously as it swung through shadows.

 _"RAVEN!"_

"Raven?"

She snapped her head to the side, a wild look in her lilac eye.

Beast Boy stood behind her, his green paw on the back of the couch. As soon as he saw her face, he came to sit beside her. She didn't protest.

"It's him again, isn't it?" he asked softly.

She nodded, unable to speak. Beast Boy placed a heavy, sympathetic hand on her shoulder. She didn't swat it away.

"You gotta stay strong," he encouraged in an unusually subdued voice. "We can't tip Slade off."

Raven heaved a mangled sigh.

"I know," she whispered, closing her shadowed eyes.

A sudden spike of terror plunged into her heart, yanking her back into Robin's mind. She jerked forward as if she had been struck. She gasped and was transported to a completely different setting. Back at Titans Tower, her face went blank, her eyes went black, and her body went slack.

"Raven!" Beast Boy cried, but she was gone, hypnotized.

 _She saw a room of shadows and blood._

 _A decapitated body lay sprawled on an embalming table. She couldn't find the head._

 _Dark ruby drops trickled serenely to the floor, conglomerating into a puddle of gore. A scrawny boy stood beside the leaking, disfigured corpse. Raven could see his ribcage, could count each rung. His emaciated skin was as pale as the cadaver in front of him. The black of his hair blended into the gloom._

 _His back was to her, but she could feel misery pouring off of him in waves._

 _Slade had his glove on the boy's slumped shoulder as if he were a proud father._

 _Suddenly, the boy turned in her direction. She expected to see sorrow, but what she got was hostility—directed solely at her._

 _His face was monstrous._

 _She could see the skull protruding as shadows threw his bony head into relief. Blood was painted across his furious brow, his chin. His leer was evil. His teeth were yellowed. The blue of his eyes was bleached, practically white. They sparkled malevolently in the dark._

 _"Your fault," he spat at her._

The vision dimmed.

It was replaced with dawn-kissed windows and an open, homey living room. The gentle breath of the sea could be heard as it crashed against the rocks. Seagull squawks pierced the quiet morning every now and then. The faint notes of a song teased her ears. The exotic aroma of strong, perfumed tea wafted up to her nose.

Raven's entire body quivered like an earthquake. Her cloak stuck to her sweat-covered back. Magical black leaked out of her eyes. The pupils contracted and the irises faded back into lavender.

The ochre-colored, Jasmine tea splashed over the edge of the cup. It burned her fingers and stained the sofa.

With the tranquility of a bedside nurse, Beast Boy plucked the mug from her savage grip and placed it on the coffee table. He held onto her hands, refusing to let go. The Titans were already growing accustomed to Raven's recent, violent visions. Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do to help when she slipped into a painful reverie. The best they could offer was support, staying beside her until she regained equilibrium.

She hadn't expected the mind-link to be this powerful; it was hilariously difficult to sift between their shared sentiments. They blended together like complimentary paint pigments. Her brain was perpetually muddled by his rage and agony.

Regardless, if this was the price she had to pay to secure Robin's safety, she would gladly suffer it.

Cyborg was still upset by the nuclear threat, but he couldn't deny the hard evidence Raven had provided. All the puzzle pieces clicked into place, much to his chagrin. The Titans were, for the moment, reunited.

Beast Boy had been particularly attentive since the revelation. Raven supposed he felt guilty for not believing her before. The exhausted Empath didn't read too deeply into his motives, nor did she fight his incessant ministrations. She would never admit it, but she needed the crutch he provided.

With a sick moan, she sunk heavily into the cushions. She felt drained, sore.

"What is it?" Beast Boy pondered and he gave her hands a comforting squeeze. "What'd you see?"

"A dark room," she began distantly, furrowing her violet eyebrows. "The same one from before."

"Anything new?"

She glanced quickly at Beast Boy, reading him.

If he was suspicious, he didn't look it. His impish, elfin face was curious and kind. His cropped, dark emerald hair was disheveled in the usual way—the spiked cowlick wobbled, bobbed. His pointed ears were alert and upright like a cat's as he waited for her to continue.

It was hard to lie to him, but she was resolute in her decision. No one was going to find out about the killings.

Robin's closeted skeletons were not hers to expose, she reasoned, but the pile of bones was growing larger with each passing hour. He already had four victims under his belt. How many would he have in a week? How many people would Slade force Robin to slaughter? She felt helpless, hopeless, but what could she do?

A migraine pounded behind her eyes as she contemplated these dark realities.

Plus, even though Raven required no further explanation as to why Robin did what he did, she knew the others wouldn't see it the same way. Oblivious thievery they could justify, but cold-blooded murder? That would be too bitter to swallow. It would re-divide them and she refused to let that happen again—Robin wouldn't survive it.

So, she kept silent on the grotesque subject. Robin would be back under their roof soon enough.

Whenever the Titans questioned her about a vision, she described settings and vague moods that might aid them in pinpointing a location. They seemed content enough despite the lack of gory details.

Now, however, she bit her lip as she deliberated what to divulge. She took another look at the changeling and decided he deserved _some_ truth.

"Robin thinks I— _we've_ abandoned him," she admitted with a tired groan.

Nodding, Beast Boy rubbed warmth back into her clammy fingers, radiating compassion. She basked selfishly in his honey-sweet energy. He was easy to talk to these days. Cyborg was always looking for a fight, despite their agreement, and Starfire was too keen. She wanted to know every single detail about Raven's visions, which was something the Empath couldn't deliver.

This left Beast Boy—an unexpected, but welcome, surprise.

Acting as her only confidant, he was the first one to rush to her side when he saw her fall into a trance; his boyish face was the first thing she woke up to; and his worried words were the first to reach her unplugged ears.

There was no irksome condemnation or unbearable angst in his steady stare. His feelings emitted concern for her and nothing more. Despite the fact that he could morph into a thousand different forms, his mind and emotions were incredibly singular. When he was happy, he was only happy. When he was sad, he was only sad. Even better, he kept his annoying, bravado quips to a record low.

She actually began to like him.

As the two opposites sat upon the sun-bathed sofa, Robin's frenzied feelings began to fade from her like smelted iron set out to cool; the boy wonder's thoughts went quiet on the psychic front. Exploiting this rare opportunity, Raven closed her eyes and her weary head sagged against the soft, linen couch.

"Uh, do you want me to leave?"

Raven's lid peeked open. Before all this insanity, she would have replied with an enthusiastic "Yes", but Beast Boy's easygoing presence was particularly comforting at the moment. The pulse of his wrist thumping against her helped keep her heart steady.

"That's ok," she replied, almost too low for him to hear. "You can stay—if you want."

He grinned his dimpled, Beast Boy-patented, grin and continued rubbing her slowly thawing hands. A faint blush bloomed on her cheeks.

The rising, pale light made her translucent skin sparkle and his fangs shimmer. Her burning eyes dimmed into a pleasant buzz. Her dusky lids grew heavy. The painful aftereffects of the vision melted away into the morning.

She re-shut her eyes and drifted into semi-sleep with Beast Boy's warm paws still wrapped around hers.

Far away from this touching scene, Robin was on all fours on the floor of the haunt's atrium. There was a soapy bucket and a bottle of bleach beside him. A red-hued sponge was in his hand. He scoured the stained concrete viciously, but there was always more blood to find.

With each push and pull of his tired shoulders, he hardened his heart.

The body and head were gone. He knew not where. Slade did not leave evidence. There would be no funeral; this victim would have no casket. The family would search the earth, but they would never find their lost beloved.

As if in answer to Robin's inquiry, the stench of something awful tickled his nose: burning hair and flesh.

He scrubbed harder and held his breath.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: This chapter is a bit longer than usual. It also jumps around time wise. The confusion is intentional _._ For inspiration, I drew not only from the "Apprentice" episodes, but also "Aftershock." Terra is the Robin that never was and so it was deliciously fun to allude to her apprenticeship.**

 **(Disclaimer: Tragically, I do not own the Teen Titans.)**

 **Anyway, enough about all that. ENJOY! As always, I am _intoxicated_ by your reviews. ;)**

* * *

 ** _"Good eye, sniper. I shoot, you run. The words you scribbled on the walls, the loss of friends you didn't have. I'll call you when the time is right. Are you in or are you out, for them all to know?"_**

* * *

 _Four days earlier_

"THOSE THINGS ARE INSIDE ME?! EWW!" Beast Boy screeched with garbled words.

"There inside all of us. Billions of 'em..." Cyborg's voice was dead, stunned.

"WELL DON'T JUST STAND THERE! GET 'EM OUT! GET 'EM OUT!"

"I can't," Cyborg said with a worn groan. "I need the battery that's keepin' them alive. Destroy the battery, destroy the bugs. It's the only way to kill 'em for good."

"Where can we find this energy supply?" Starfire questioned with a warrior's glint in her eye.

Cyborg gave Raven a heavy, contrite look.

The others followed his gaze. Their weighted glances fell upon her and she pulled her cloak closer. Her knees shook behind the violet folds. Her expression was crestfallen underneath the shadow of the hood. Stabs of alien grief plunged into her—Robin's doing.

" _Raven,"_ he suddenly whispered into the mind-link. " _Don't leave me here alone…"_

She inhaled deeply, composing herself.

"Slade," she managed to mutter. "We find him, we find the battery."

Beast Boy turned green…well, _greener._

He was flat on his back, stuffed inside an MRI machine—one of several in the Tower's medical wing. Like most hospitals, the walls were sterile and white and the air had the distinct tang of disinfectant. Part of the wing was made up of a dozen private rooms that were equipped with everything from Band-Aids to beds to buzz-saws. The adjoining section was comprised of specialty quarters for MRI and X-ray testing.

Beast Boy was engulfed in an assortment of electrodes, wires, and IVs that covered his arms, chest, and the sides of his head. A rubber mouthpiece was clenched between his fangs. A radiofrequency coil was smooshed on top of his head—it had the appearance of a small, cylindrical, plastic laundry basket.

The Titans were gathered around Beast Boy, watching his feet twitch and flail as his upper body disappeared into the MRI. As the resident M.D., Cyborg was seated beside the frantic shapeshifter, peering intently into a computer screen which portrayed an enhanced image of the Titan's red blood cells and the Nanoscopic invaders.

A rack of plasma samples and a prepped microscope were situated upon a desk in the corner. Cyborg swiveled between it and the computer, perpetually checking his work.

The changeling was the last to be tested and the Titans had to almost physically restrain him. He _hated_ hospitals and all their evils—especially needles.

Needless to say, it had been a tough day for him, but his complaints were drowned out by the discovery of the Probes.

"Why does he not unleash the full potential of this technology?" Starfire pressed. "We are at his mercy!"

"It's not about us," Raven grunted. "It's about Robin. We're just the bargaining chips."

"Excuse me, I do not understand," Starfire chirped, putting a finger to her chin and furrowing her scarlet brow. "How are we related to the 'fried' potato segments and why do they have the ability to negotiate? Is it typical for cuisine to do such a thing on Earth?"

Cyborg and Raven glanced at one another, silently debating who should answer the confused alien. Muffled, squeaky giggles emanated from the MRI as Beast Boy tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle his laughter.

"No, Star, she means that Slade is usin' us to control Robin," Cyborg finally explained, fighting a smile.

She took a moment to chew that over, tucking a strand of bright red hair behind her tan ear.

"The Probes are...insurance?" she suggested. "Slade threatens to destroy us unless Robin complies with his every wish?"

Raven raised her eyebrows, impressed. Cyborg nodded with a somber frown. A brief smile lit up Starfire's face, but it quickly disappeared as she let her own words sink in.

A heavy silence followed as the Titans contemplated Robin's deal. They knew that he had a reason for doing what he did, but they never imagined it would be this personal...or this poignant. Slade had crossed a line and Robin had followed him over it to ensure their safety.

They still lived and breathed because of Robin; he suffered Slade's sadism for _them_.

It was a profound concept to digest.

Naturally, however, the thoughtful quiet was soon broken by Beast Boy, who was still hidden inside the MRI.

"Dudes… _THAT'S SO MESSED UP_!"

* * *

 _Presently_

"Isn't there anything else you can do?"

"Hey, do you wanna drive this thing? No? Then, keep it down."

With arms crossed, Raven huffed indignantly and glared at Cyborg who was oblivious as he typed away at the mainframe computer. A map of Jump City took up half of the screen, while the other half was a hodgepodge of security camera feeds that flicked from street corner to street corner in a continuous livestream.

Raven's eyes darted frantically as she searched the footage for a long and lean boy with a mop of jet black hair and skin the color of a new moon.

He was nowhere to be seen.

She sighed sadly and peered out the windows that made up the entire eastern wall of the lounge.

It was almost midnight.

The shops were closing but the bars were busy. Neon lights swallowed the city. They reflected violently off the wet, puddled pavement; the nighttime pedestrians appeared to be walking on blobs of brightly colored paint.

The party scene was in full swing. Tipsy boys and girls laughed raucously as they staggered and swayed from sidewalk to sidewalk. Annoyed waitresses plastered on happy faces as they served drinks and ignored harassment.

Men with gold-toothed leers conglomerated in the shadows of alleyways, waiting for suckers and sweets. They scattered like rats when police cars rolled by, but their threatening, mischievous eyes sparkled in the dark.

From Titans Tower, one could easily spot the Harvest Festival that sprawled all along the boardwalk.

The faint tune of carnival music drifted lazily across the waters; one could hear the excited screams of children—and the tired groans of their parents—as they ran helter-skelter from rollercoasters to mazes to haunted houses. The Ferris wheel was one giant knot of spinning string-lights and streamers.

An odd lump jumped into Raven's throat.

The Titans had gone to the Festival last year, but that happy memory seemed a lifetime ago. It was buried beneath a fresh mound of sorrow.

Swallowing thickly, she frowned and shifted her attention back to the map. Her impatience rejuvenated.

Numerous points of interest were marked on the map in green. The blizzard of emerald dots spread from the coastline to the undeveloped districts near the state's eastern border. Each speck suggested a possible target for Slade.

Most of them were government compounds and storage facilities with strong military connections. A few of them had access to the very codes that would give Slade his nuclear weapon.

Unbeknownst to the citizens—and hopefully Slade—Jump City was on red alert. The Titans keenly awaited the inevitable signal as they carried out their normal hero duties. It was stressful to say the least. They had to be ready to drop everything at any given notice, and they also had to prepare themselves for the trials that followed.

"So, you're su—?"

Cyborg took a deep, exasperated breath, cutting her off:

"For the last time, Rae, I'm _sure_."

She bit her cheek, trying to stop herself from asking _yet another_ pointless question.

It was pathetic, but she couldn't stay holed up in her room any longer. Her sanctuary held no comfort for her.

Restless and anxious, she had to do something or, more specifically, _pester_ _someone._

Robin's mind was becoming quiet—too quiet.

It had been a day since she had last felt him and two since she had heard his mental voice. His feelings, so strong and unpredictable at first, were becoming fainter and fainter.

She tried to meditate—to focus her senses and reorient herself around him. Still, he remained unnervingly taciturn. It confirmed her worst fears.

He was fading.

His presence was there, but he made no effort to call out to her—as if he had given up. His feelings were diluted and dull. Only rarely could she hear the weak echo of him whispering her name. His voice was a breath lost on the wind, a timid tug on her cloak.

The signs did not bode well.

Even worse, the last melding of their minds had been a surprise. She hadn't expected for it to happen, hadn't planned it. Therefore, she couldn't replicate it.

Robin's distress had been so potent that it had swept Raven, literally, off her feet. Whether intentional or not, his panicking mind had summoned her to him. Such a random occurrence was hard—if not impossible—to reproduce. He had been in real, unimaginable, fear for his life.

It was akin to a deathbed confession and Raven didn't expect him to be so vulnerable to her advances again.

Then, of course, there was the fact that if Slade caught her in the act, it could ruin everything. He would never let Robin go if he suspected that the Titans had become wise to his scheme. Or, he could just kill them all. Both of these options were less than desirable.

So, they waited for the signal, for one of the green blips on the map to turn red.

Their plan was essentially the same as before except for one simple difference: instead of stopping Robin, they would rescue him.

Unfortunately, Cyborg's deal with the military was of the unbreakable variety; however, the Titans decided that their involvement with the government was now on a need-to-know basis. They would play the game, but secretly change the rules at the last minute.

The strategy was a sound one. The problem lay in the monotonous, demoralizing delay.

It was worsened by the frightening turn in Robin's attitude. Was he hurt? Was he dying? What was Slade doing to him?

 _What if we've lost him for good?_

The question made Raven wince. If Robin had kept up his murderous pace, his body count totaled five.

Raven clenched her fists and snorted in irritation. Why were they just standing here? Robin needed them now—had needed them for _six weeks_!

"Are you _sure_ there hasn't been a sighting?" she snapped as she watched the computer monitor hungrily.

Cyborg straightened, stopped what he was doing, and turned to face her. He massaged his organic temple and pursed his lips.

"Rae, I know you're worried about him," he said in a steady, yet annoyed, tone. "But standin' around, buggin' me every ten seconds, isn't gonna help anything. You're only stressin' yourself—and _me_ —out."

She tightened her arms but couldn't retain her menacing expression.

"He's not going to make it," she replied in a broken monotone.

Cyborg softened his coffee scowl. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. The metal of his massive, mechanical palm was cool to the touch but thrummed with vibrant electricity.

"It's going to be ok. We just have to be patient."

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry about earlier," he apologized suddenly.

Confused, she raised an eyebrow.

"Cyborg, you have nothing to be sorry about," she said. "I should stop bothering you—"

"Not that," he interrupted. "I meant the whole, y'know, Robin issue. I just—I was tryin' to do the right thing. I should—I should've just… _trusted_ him. He earned that and I didn't...I wasn't…"

His eyes lowered in shame as his words trailed off. A trembling frown pulled at his mouth. Understanding raced across Raven's face. She placed a forgiving hand over his.

"We _all_ should have trusted him."

The sadness didn't leave his gaze when he peered back up at her, but he gave a thankful, relieved smile. It spread naturally across his mismatched face, gleaming like a row of stars against the backdrop of his dark skin.

She gave a wry smirk in return.

"Well, I guess I'd better check for any new—"

Shrill, blood-curdling alarms cut Cyborg's words off.

An intense sensation of dread re-entered Raven's heart.

One of the green lights on the map had switched to a bright, bloody red.

* * *

 _Hours earlier_

"You missed a spot."

Robin's hand was submerged in a pail of pink, foamy water. From the hem to the knees, his tattered sweats were spattered with dark, crusted red. Splotches of grime and guts were smeared across his bare chest. His hands and forearms were streaked with ominous crimson.

The black gym mat was shunted to the far side of the room. The center of the space was now filled with instruments of death: lethal weapons of all stripes, a haunted gurney, and several bundles of rank leather restraints. A string of weak lights shone down on Robin as he destroyed the evidence of his most recent crime.

He could just make out the shimmery outlines of the blood puddles. They sought each other's company and coalesced into one massive, thick pool in front of him. He had been scouring away at it all morning with bleach and soap and water, but blood was sticky and stubborn.

At the sound of his master's voice, he froze and peeked over his shoulder. His heart turned to ice.

Slade waltzed calmly out of the deep shadows, smelling of putrefied smoke. Indeed, the potent odor of cremation perfumed the dank cavern air.

Defiled, soapy water spilled over the edge of the bucket as Robin's hand shook. He ground his teeth together, trying to stifle it; however, an oppressive fear was entrenched in his chest and refused to be exhumed.

Unfazed, Slade strode up to him and gestured to the polluted floor.

"Well? It's not going to clean itself."

His eye became a slit. His abusive hands twitched.

Robin whisked back around, swallowing a whimper. He squeezed the excess water from the lathered sponge and started the arduous process anew. Slade's presence loomed like certain death as he observed silently from the encroaching dark.

The boy was exhausted, but there would be no rest for the enslaved as long as the taskmaster was near.

His back pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled. Like tides against the shore, his spine undulated rhythmically as he scrubbed. It bulged from beneath his thin, stretched skin—a swaying chain of vertebrae.

His biceps ached and quivered, petitioning for rest. His neck was sore and stiff. His calloused hands were raw. Yet, he dared not show a hint of fatigue. He attacked the remaining bloodstains mercilessly.

Inch by inch, they began to recede.

Slade's threatening presence pushed him past his limits. Fat drops of perspiration streamed down his temples, back, and chest. His eyes stung as sweat invaded them. It was nearly impossible to breathe. Combating stenches of bleach and rot assaulted his senses.

The last bloody spot refused to separate from the ground. Robin groaned internally.

 _Needs more bleach..._ he concluded with a revolted frown.

He tossed the saturated sponge into the bucket and went to unscrew the industrial grade Clorox. Slade's leg haunted his peripheral. His heart hammered against his ribcage, deafening. His soaked and shaky fingers were useless as they tried to pry off the lid.

On his third failed attempt, Slade squatted down beside him.

Robin went completely still, not even daring to breathe. With patronizing ease, Slade plucked the bottle from the boy's petrified grip and unscrewed the cap. Immediately the nose-burning fetor of unadulterated bleach smacked into Robin's face.

Slade handed him the potent-smelling jug back, offering it in one, calm palm. His eye never swerved as it skewered the boy wonder.

Holding his breath, Robin seized the Clorox and splashed some of its chemical contents onto the floor. He then quickly set it down and dunked his aching hand back into the basin to retrieve the sponge. Slade remained glued to his side. The sparkle of his copper mask was a permanent fixture in the corner of Robin's eye.

Thankfully, it only took a few swipes of the sponge before the stain lifted and disappeared.

He patted the ground, feeling for any remnants. When there were none, he exhaled in a poorly disguised sigh of relief.

After hours on his knees, he was finally finished.

Just to be sure, he checked his work several times over, his nose almost touching the recently desecrated ground. Again, he found no residue. Indeed, even the embalming table was spotless.

Unsure what else to do, Robin decided to close up shop.

He glanced tentatively in Slade's direction, waiting for a counter command. When the villain made no protest, he discarded the sponge and re-lidded the bottle of bleach. He dried his hands on a tattered rag and then plopped into an Indian-style position, facing away from his master. His stiff legs cried in delight.

Slade's eye stalked his every movement.

Tense, deathly quiet seconds ticked by as the pair sat in silence.

 _Did I do something wrong?_ Robin panicked.

He clamped down on his lip as he resisted the urge to bite his brittle nails. Although he quailed from head to toe, he kept as still as possible—a frightened rabbit caught in the stare of a hungry predator.

"Apprentice," Slade suddenly purred. "Look at me."

Repressing bile, Robin clenched his fists into white-knuckled knots.

He turned to face Slade, wincing. There was a hellish evil lurking in the villain's glare. What secrets would Robin reveal when he peered into it?

As soon as their eyes connected, he lost any hope of courage. He actually recoiled as he gazed into the endless black of Slade's pupil. He recalled all the times it had glimmered just before his master did something dreadful. It was the herald of horror, an apocalyptic horseman.

On cue, it began to glint dangerously.

"Whom do you serve?" Slade asked, leaning forward on his toes.

The enquiry hit Robin out of nowhere, throwing him. Wasn't it obvious?

"Y-y-you, m-m-master," he stuttered, shivering.

Rooted to the spot, he could only cringe as Slade crept closer.

"You belong to me now, don't you?" the villain hissed, crawling across the concrete like a tarantula.

Robin was mystified, perplexed. That question was utterly rhetorical. Nevertheless, Slade was now within a foot of him—intent on Robin's response. He was noiseless as he skulked forward.

"Y-yes, m-master," Robin said with an enthusiastic nod, hoping his affirmation would repel Slade's advances.

The villain's eye widened profoundly, but Robin could not decipher its mysteries.

"Will you serve me and me only?"

As he spoke, Slade cut the distance between them by half. His eye was a gluttonous void that Robin couldn't withstand. He was being eaten alive.

"Yes, master," he whimpered now.

Slade's breath caressed his cheek as it exited through the metal slits. This was far too close. Robin was hurdling toward the point of no return—event horizon. Their faces were mere inches from one another. His entire line of sight was eclipsed by the split, copper-black mask.

"Will you obey my every command?"

The thrum of Slade's tenor ricocheted through his bones, hummed a wicked tune. An unadulterated terror was winding its way up his spine. The fear was drowning out reason as he stared into destruction.

"Yes, master!" he yelped as he tried to scramble backward.

Instantaneously, Slade had Robin's jaw in an icy, iron grip.

He yanked him closer, forcing him to peer directly into the eye of the Cyclops. Robin saw the shadowed shape of a cruel, grinning mouth stretching behind the slits.

Paralyzed, his body was unresponsive; his brain was a blank slate. He was a trapped fly in the spider's web.

"Will you fight at my side forever?" Slade sighed with a snake tongue.

The villain's clutch tightened painfully.

Robin didn't hear the words. There was only the prick of Slade's breath against his flesh and the pounding of his veins as they mutinied.

Still, he whispered:

"Yes, master."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Setting the stage. Sorry for the wait! :) Enjoy.**

* * *

 _ **"A white, blank page and a swelling rage, rage. You did not think when you sent me to the brink, to the brink...So, tell me now where was my fault in loving you with my whole heart?"**_

* * *

Driving east past the city limits, urban complexes and skyscrapers disappear and give way to rolling plains that stretch far into the horizon. The smog of Jump City dissipates and the sky is as clear as crystals. Vineyards crop up every now and then. Their rustic manors recline casually on distant hills, basking in the temperate sun.

The highways thin into two lanes and the grass is as green as jade. Flocks of carefree birds float from perch to perch, dancing against a blue backdrop. There is not a whiff of a cloud—a calm, quiet sea. Caressing breezes take the edge off the heat and leave one feeling perfectly balanced.

However, the further one travels, the fertile landscape grows barren. Yellow weeds spread infectiously and the sun becomes an oppressor. Golden, green hills dwindle into a flat, dry desert. Puffs of disturbed sand drift along the ground like tumbleweeds. Spiny, hostile cacti decorate the roadside.

There is no civilization to be seen except for the occasional, dilapidated pit stop.

It was here, in this wasteland, where the Titans now placed their last hope.

A top secret, government bunker—christened Area 59—was stationed out amongst the scorpions and snakes and sand. It was a community of granite squares in the center a barb-wired, electric fence moat. Machine-gun patrollers strolled in efficient circles around the complex. Black, intimidating jeeps roared from time to time as they exited and entered through the carefully guarded gates.

All this indicated impenetrability.

One would have to be insane to try and take on AK-47s, iron-jawed soldiers, snarling German shepherds, unblinking security cameras, and several layers of lead-thick defenses alone. It would take an army to neutralize this impressive fortification.

Nevertheless, these odds did not stop Robin.

His master had ordered him here, and so here he would go. It did not matter if he wanted to or not. It did not matter that he would have a hundred guns pointed at his head or that a successful mission would mean probable disaster for many innocent lives.

These factors were low on Robin's list of priorities.

It had taken six weeks of relentless torture, but Slade had finally broken him. The sharp stings of morality had been blunted to weak nudges. His skin had grown thick and numb.

This is not to say that he was now a dumb devotee, that he had been brainwashed to actually believe the psychopath's lies. No, it was merely that he had been bought and sold; he was merchandise. Property had no soul, had no opinion. It followed the orders of its owner without a conscience or a consciousness.

This simple truth had dawned on him a few days ago.

He had just murdered an older woman—had put a gun to her head and slugged a bullet into her skull. Her brains had splattered all over the floor. The shame and grief came as quickly as they always did, but they were joined by newcomer: annoyance.

 _What a mess,_ he had thought with a frown.

The dead woman sprawled at his feet was a nuisance. It would take hours to mop up her blood. Of course he was devastated by her murder at his hands, but why did she have to die so sloppily? Did she know that _he_ would have to pick her brain matter off the floor? That _he_ would have to smell her cremated rot for hours after? That _he_ would be punished if he left any trace of her behind?

This shocking bitterness quickly mortified him and later that night—after he had swept away the last of her remains—he wept confused tears for the pathetic woman. Head buried between his knees, his breathing sounded like a rusty engine as he sobbed. His fingers were embedded in his lank, dirty hair, clutching it viciously.

"I-I'm…a-a-a…m-monst-ter…" he croaked, shoulders shaking.

Salty tears crept out of him and dripped onto the gray rug. With bleary sight, he watched them fall and splatter in a seemingly endless cycle; however, they soon dried up and he was left feeling empty and tired. His brain was a fog of jumbled, terrified angst—his usual state of mind.

The anguish sat on his shoulders like two devils. He felt their fiery paws on his back and buckled under their weight.

 _Beast Boy. Cyborg. Starfire. Raven. Beast Boy. Cyborg. Starfire. Raven..._

He said the names of his friends over and over again to remind himself of why he was here, why he could never be free. He sat in his misery, holding onto the memories of better days like worn rosary beads.

Slade was invincible, unbeatable, unstoppable. Foolishly, Robin had come to this conclusion too late. His arrogance had betrayed him yet again.

It was if he was standing on a precipice, looking down into a bleak, black abyss. The wind howled in his ears and dragged him closer to the edge. He dug his heels in but he couldn't fight against the forces of nature forever. He knew he would fall.

It was only a matter of time. The question was how. Would he oppose Slade until the very end or would he take the plunge with arms opened wide?

Would it be so bad to give in?

His friends actually had a _better_ chance at living if he stopped resisting, right? The less he rebelled against Slade, the less mortal danger the Titans would be in...or so his master claimed.

Epiphany struck him then.

He wiped his wet face and straightened his shoulders. His mouth parted in revelatory awe. His arctic eyes were withdrawn and wide. His thick lashes stuck to his damp lids.

"I...I don't have to fight..." he whispered to himself, to the faded burgundy walls of his bedroom. "...but I can still win..."

Robin went slack against the brick in knee-weakening relief.

He smiled for the first time since he went underground. The grin was lopsided and poorly rendered—a cheap imitation. The dry scabs on his bottom lip split as it stretched. His jaw was out of practice, it shifted too far over to the left. His teeth were yellowed, decrepit. A little voice whispered that he was a fool, but it was easily ignored.

It was time to accept reality and move on. The bars that held him here weren't budging; he was utterly imprisoned. The door was locked from the outside and the warden had swallowed the key.

There was no escape from this place and all the time Robin had spent ramming headlong against the cage only did him, and his friends, more harm.

For the first time in his crime-fighting career, Robin raised the white flag and conceded the battle. It was over. He was tired. The enemy had won. He could either fight to the death or surrender and salvage what little of his strength and life he had left.

The Visigoths were at the gates; the glory that was Rome was gone. Robin traded his life for that of his people and accepted eternal slavery under a new crown. Gone were the days of peace. A new era was rising, had already risen.

So, he left the comfort of his city and bowed before his new lord; he kissed Slade's feet. In return, his new master awarded him with chains and dragged the boy wonder from his home, his family—whisking him away to a foreign land.

Robin was the spoil of a mad king.

Nevertheless, a treaty as wretched as this one still went both ways.

Robin now accepted his new and lowly status. He would carry out his master's commands to the 'T', but only with the assurance that the Titans would live. If Slade broke that part of the agreement, Robin would not hesitate to slit his throat in his sleep.

 _All glory is fleeting._

Robin's eerie grin grew wider.

If it was a monster Slade wanted, then it was a monster he was going to get.

* * *

The cold, dry winds bit at Raven's cheeks as the Titans raced toward Area 59. Invisible dust attacked her. She blinked furiously and tugged her hood further over her face as she flew against the desolate gales.

Even with limited, assaulted sight, she could still perceive a light gray trail of smoke on the approaching horizon.

Something was on fire.

The closer she got to it, the louder the alarms became.

The triple-lidded lizards of the desert scrambled out of sight, burrowing beneath the tides of sand. Angry, glinting scorpions raised their black stingers, needlessly puffed. Smirking coyotes skulked back to their dens, watching curiously from the brush. The faraway cries of a disgruntled hawk were drowned out by the sirens shrieking from Area 59.

Rotating red beacons blossomed from the sandstone rooftop like low-hanging stars. Lookout tower searchlights pierced the dark, swiveling chaotically left and right. As they illuminated the ground, black-clothed men scurried in a chaotic swarm like exposed cockroaches.

Crackles of gunfire sounded in between the wails of the alarms.

Dread came on swift paws.

Cyborg—who was clinging onto the scaly back of a massive, green pterodactyl—peered worriedly over at Raven. His dark eyes sparkled. Had they come too late?

On ebony, midnight wings, she surged ahead of the others, unable to wait. She hurdled toward the ground and landed gracelessly just outside the barb-wired walls, falling immediately into a sprint.

Area 59's impressive gate had a hole blown right through it. The metal was still hot from the explosion. A searchlight passed over, blinding her. Her magical wings instantly provided a canopy, blocking out the oppressive spotlight.

The lasting kiss of fire—cruel and acrid—saturated the atmosphere. It stung the back of her throat and made breathing difficult as it stained her lungs.

Within seconds of her intrusion, several intimidating grunts emerged silently from the dark and marched over to her. A cornucopia of weapons swung from their dark leather belts. Their combat boots glittered in the unobstructed moonlight. Not an inch of skin showed; they were covered head-to-toe in sturdy, black body armor—blending seamlessly into the night.

"Teen Titan?" one of them asked gruffly, his voice muffled by a helmet.

"Yeah," she said with a sharp nod.

The facemask shielded him from view, but Raven hardly needed his expression to guess his sentiments. He was frustrated, yet fearful. There was also a faint hint of distrust coloring his attitude—a distrust of _her._

She should have been more surprised. They were supposed to be on the same side, after all. Nevertheless, it only confirmed what she was already suspicious of. Collaboration between superheroes and other types of law-enforcement was never easy.

Their reputation proceeded them; the Teen Titans didn't work well with others.

Behind, Raven heard the soft rustle of a now-human Beast Boy landing with faint, sandy shuffles. Instantaneously, a boom rattled the ground, sending dirt flying, as Cyborg pounded impressively into the earth. Starfire gently descended and levitated beside the boys, her determined gaze focused on the blown-apart gate.

Beneath the helmets, the men's mistrust grew stronger. They twitched uncomfortably in the full presence of the Titans.

Raven narrowed her eyes.

"Follow me," the man from before ordered, gesturing with his bulky arm.

He and the two others who flanked him charged off without waiting for a reply. The Titans kept pace easily.

Area 59 was a large operation.

In the center of the compound was the main storage building. It was the size of a shopping mall and was equipped with a crown of security cameras. Snipers patrolled the roof, always on duty. Watchtowers were positioned in the four corners of Area 59. Soldiers accompanied by wild-eyed dogs ran routes around and around in an eternal circle. A half a dozen bunkers and barracks were evenly spaced from one another as they ringed the area.

Beast Boy frowned when he saw his animal kin. Thick, steel choke-collars were coiled tightly around their broad, furry necks.

"I thought slavery was illegal..." the changeling muttered under his breath.

Regardless, Raven couldn't help but notice the smoking debris that cropped up alongside her as the group traveled down the makeshift path toward the gargantuan storage facility. Bits and pieces of jagged stone and metal were scattered all around, sparkling dimly in the dark.

More men joined the Titans and their escorts from out of nowhere. Guns and knives jangled loudly; heavy thumps of combat boots stomped into the fallow ground. It felt like war.

"We've got 'im cornered," a GI informed them, out of breath. "But we're havin' trouble finishin' the job. No one's been able to get within ten feet!"

Frustrated, bravado grumbles accompanied this information.

"Waste of bullets if ya ask me…little punk…"

"He can't hold out forever! We'll have him before the hour's up, sir!"

"Jesus, who _is_ this kid?"

Starfire, who floated side-by-side with Raven, clenched her soft chin in disapproval. Her long, elegant fingers jerked. She very much wanted to give these rude warriors a stern talking to. The _kid_ they spoke of with such contempt was far beyond their meager skill level.

If they had any inclination of who Robin was, they would have known that the boy wonder would _always_ be the last man standing.

It was a lesson learned only with much pain and many broken bones.

Indeed, as the team entered through the building's massive entryway, Raven could already smell the blood.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I love hearing your thoughts and they are ALWAYS appreciated. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. Enjoy!~ :)**

 **Warning: Language.**

* * *

 **"** ** _It's no big surprise you turned out this way, when they closed their eyes and prayed you'd change. They cut your hair and sent you away..."_**

* * *

"This way!"

Squatting on the ground, Robin hastily yanked his dirk out of the downed soldier's shoulder.

His prey screamed and writhed as the blade ripped through mangled tissue and bone, and the frenzied movement caused the tip of the dagger to break apart. A bloody, steel shard remained stubbornly nestled in the upper torso. Dark crimson gurgled through the hole in the body armor and dripped serenely onto the industrial floor, a violent river.

With a grunt of frustration, Robin discarded the rest of the broken weapon and ducked behind a ten-foot high storage container. Frantic footsteps approached.

The wounded soldier rolled onto his side groaning and moaning for help, pathetically clutching his leaking chest. His exposed, scrunched-up face was a portrait of bruises. His nose was grotesquely twisted.

An empty helmet waited sadly for its owner's return.

"Over…*cough*…here!" the casualty called with a scratched voice.

A pair appeared on the scene, rushed over, and dragged their battered friend away. His heels skidded limply against the concrete as he was towed out of danger. Distressed tears ran down his swollen face.

Another streak of red was added to the already painted floor.

"Man down! _MAN DOWN_!" one of the rescuers screamed into a walkie-talkie. "MEDIC!"

Robin smiled savagely, baring fangs, as he peeked around the corner of the container.

" _Hurry, apprentice,_ " Slade warned him, corresponding through the usual earpiece.

As Robin's adversaries retreated, blind cover-fire zipped past and ricocheted off the metal that guarded him. He recoiled further into the shadows, dodging ping-ponging bullets.

A single explosive sat heavily in his pocket, but he was saving it as a last resort. He had a meager handful of smoke pellets left as well as a large hunting knife strapped to his leg. The thermal blaster was back at the haunt undergoing intensive tinkering.

He had no gun; Slade had not granted him permission.

He didn't mind.

Visibility was poor and guns would only be loud inconveniences. He never had been able to get the hang of them, anyway. He preferred quick, stealth strikes—up close and personal.

Two small dirks were sheathed in his silvery utility belt, the pitiful remnants of his original supply. He had to stop wasting them on peons.

After all, the real challenge had yet to come; the Teen Titans were nowhere to be seen.

Robin supposed that the Area 59 simpletons thought they could handle him alone. No need to call in the capes for just _one_ intruder.

A ghost of smile graced his lips.

How wrong they were.

He had snuck in undetected, set explosives all over the compound, and pressed the trigger. He watched as the place became a warzone.

Completely taken off-guard, the once intimidating soldiers scattered and panicked like children, running after the red-herring fires he started. At first, all was going according to plan. No one noticed him; no one saw the thief as he skulked right past their gates.

Unfortunately, his anonymity did not last; the explosions hadn't done as much damage as Robin had hoped. Just as he was hacking into the compound's mainframe, searching for the nuclear codes, a dutiful sentry poked his head in where it didn't belong. He raised the alarm before Robin could crush his windpipe.

A swarm of soldiers fell upon him.

They pushed him to the furthermost wing of the facility, where neat rows of massive shipping containers filled the dusty football-field-sized room.

Robin didn't have a clue what these behemoths stored, and he didn't care as long as they held out against the incessant gunfire coming his way. He killed the lights, setting the stage just the way he liked it.

After a month and a half in the dark, this gave him a strong advantage.

He hopped from aisle to aisle, from box to box, luring overconfident men away from their compatriots like a Siren. The last thing these unfortunate GIs would see was the glimmer of a bo-staff hurtling toward them; the last thing they would hear was the _whoosh!_ of a dagger as it spiraled out of the dark and sunk its teeth into their unsuspecting limbs.

Some of Robin's victims put up more of a fight and thus required more extreme methods.

He had to hamstring a few of them, slashing into the backs of their legs with his razor-sharp hunting knife. There was a vulnerable spot between the shin-high boots and the bulky kneepads that had little protection and he sliced through the muscles there as if they were butter.

Once his opponents couldn't walk, they stopped being threats, and he proceeded to finish them off with a knockout.

Yet, he did not kill them.

It would only speed up the game, he reasoned: Wounded men required more attention than dead ones, and the time it took to rescue and transport them back to safety gave Robin a nice cushion in which to strategize his next move.

There were no windows in this concrete warehouse and the only door available was the one he had come through, which was now blocked by at least fifty, trigger-happy obstacles. He would have to make his own means of escape or weaken his adversaries enough to the point where he could fight his way out.

He decided on the latter. This mission _had_ to be a success.

There was no other choice.

He could not—would not—return to his master empty-handed. He'd rather face a thousand tanks point-blank than disappoint Slade, whose wrath would be hideously unbearable.

So, one by one, Robin picked off Area 59's defenses and, with each successful attack, he grew more and more aggressive.

Despite the circumstances, he was beginning to lose himself to the thrill of it all. Slade had been right: Robin _liked_ this part of the job.

The sharp intake of breath just before a soldier crumpled before him was music to his ears. The crunch of plastic shattering as his staff crashed into a faceguard was akin to the sweetest birdsong.

He wanted these brawny men to whimper like teary-eyed school boys.

He wanted to humiliate them.

He wanted to hear their heartbeats thundering beneath their camouflaged vests.

He wanted them to be in awe of his merciless rage.

Above all, Robin wanted catharsis— _needed_ it—and this golden opportunity was impossible to resist. He had a tank full of anger, an endless supply of punching bags, and two hungry fists.

There was also the matter of fairness to consider.

Why should he be the only one made to suffer? Why couldn't _he_ inflict a little woe? A little chaos? A little cruelty?

 _Do unto others what has been done to you_ , he thought with a poignant grimace as he crept in the shadows and stalked his next target.

He trailed one group comprised of three beleaguered soldiers who jogged blindly in the gloom, running in circles, as they searched for him. Easy prey, Robin waited for them to stray.

He could hear them struggling to breathe, could see their pace slowing as they buckled under the burden of their heavy armor.

They were tired, but Robin was wired.

Pure adrenaline thumped through his veins, sharpening his every sense. His mind was pleasantly blank as he followed his predetermined course of action. He felt lethal, invincible. His footsteps were whispers unheard. He became one with the darkness, a shadow amongst shadows. His uniform glittered imperceptibly—a ghost in the night.

He never blinked.

The soldiers took a wrong turn and ended up at a makeshift dead-end, sandwiched between two containers.

With bo-staff in hand, Robin scuttled up behind them, noiseless. They spoke in rushed growls and were completely oblivious until he hissed:

"Looking for me?"

"WHAT THE FU—?!"

Gunfire and hoarse yelling ensued but were quickly cut off within seconds as the men were taken down.

Their helmets were then stripped and their guns were broken and thrown to the side, useless.

One of the soldiers ended up with two severed hamstrings and was now unconscious. Surrounded by a growing pool of red, he was slumped against the wall and his face was hidden in obscurity.

His brother in arms had collapsed after a few kicks to the chest and one swing of the staff—his dark brown eyes were dazed and unfocused as he stared dumbly at the ceiling. He wouldn't be cognizant for much longer.

The last casualty had several cuts littering his covered arms and legs and had suffered stunning blows to the throat and ribs; however, he struggled to remain upright, leaning heavily on his elbows as blood wept out of him. He was older, grayer. His hair was peppered and his stubble was silver.

Robin searched them for anything useful and came up empty-handed. Their communicators were too badly damaged to be of any help. They sparked and died with warbling murmurs.

Annoyingly, these grunts were also devoid of switchblades.

" _Dangerous behavior, Robin,"_ Slade hissed in the earpiece.

Murmuring obscenities under his breath, Robin stood and began to leave.

"Give…it up… _kid_ …" a gruff voice suddenly panted. "…you…can't…win."

He stopped mid-step and peered over his shoulder with a hidden, raised brow.

The older man was struggling to sit back up, but he slipped on his own blood. He cradled his side, nursing his broken rib.

" _He's not worth your time_ ," Slade informed. " _Leave before the others arrive._ "

Robin turned back around.

"You…fuckin'… _coward_!" the man yelled bravely at the boy wonder's disappearing back. "C-can't…fight us…*cough* *cough*…face to…face…like a real…man?!"

Robin halted again.

His nostrils flared as his anger licked its chops, feeding off the high of adrenaline and endorphins.

" _Apprentice_ _..."_ Slade warned perceptively.

"That's...right! Run away...*cough*... _little bitch_!"

Unable to refuse the bait, Robin pivoted and strode coolly back over.

He expertly twirled a bloodstained blade in his hand.

As he approached, the man's resolute expression began to crack. His eyes were glued to the knife's movements. His lip trembled despite his hostile front.

Robin crouched to the ground and cocked his head disturbingly.

The mess of hair atop his scalp swayed to the right. A few greasy tendrils sprung out like tree branches. The sides of his shaved head were spattered with dirt, blood, and burn-marks.

If the copper-trimmed half-mask hadn't covered his face, the soldier might have been appalled by the obvious deadness in those powder blue irises.

Even still, the fallen Titan had the face of Death itself: skin as white as bleached bone, cheeks as gaunt as a starved dog's ribs, and a jaw as sharp as the blade in his hand. He seemed beyond time, beyond reality.

He may have had the appearance of a sixteen-year-old boy, but that was only a veneer. A grim reaper lurked beneath.

"What's the matter?" Robin whispered when the veteran went still and silent. "Scared?"

 _"Come now,_ " Slade chided calmly. " _Stop playing with your food._ "

Robin grunted in affirmation. He leaned forward.

The man trembled in earnest.

"Who's the coward now?"

The dirk was a blur of silver as it lashed out and sliced deep into the man's forehead—into the trigeminal nerve.

The GI immediately wailed, flailed, recoiled. He clutched his face. Blood seeped from between his gloved fingers.

 _"Shut him up! Now!"_ Slade ordered.

Robin stood, sheathed the dagger, and swung his leg back.

"Nighty night," he remarked without emotion.

He was just about to kick the man's brains in when he heard it.

Or, more specifically, heard _her_.

"Don't do it, Robin _."_

Her familiar monotone burned him, reopened scars. He ground his teeth against the memories of their friendship, of her unfulfilled promise. Her voice was like a branding iron. He clenched his fists and sealed off his mind. His foot was frozen mid-air.

" _What are you waiting for?_ _Do it!_ " Slade barked at him.

"I'll be with you in a second," Robin snarled at Raven as his leg propelled forward.

His boot smashed into the whimpering man's jaw.

The GI's neck whiplashed. His limp body flopped backward with a sickening thud. He joined his friends in unconsciousness.

Simultaneously, Robin was yanked backward by an invisible hand.

Toes screeching and sparking against the floor, he struggled uselessly in Raven's magical grasp, which wound around his torso like headless vipers. She brought him face-to-face with her and scowled at him in clear disappointment beneath her characteristic hood.

The sight of her so close sent a trill of something unwanted up his spine. He couldn't stand her presence. She was like a hot water poured on frostbite; like high noon to a vampire. She was splitting his heart and he sneered cruelly at her, incensed.

They glared at one another in an awkward standoff.

"Why so quiet, Rae?" Robin suddenly snapped, unable to control his tempestuous tongue. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

" _Careful, apprentice_."

She shook her head. Chin-length strands of violet hair tickled her dainty chin. She seemed so normal, so unaffected by their separation.

It fueled his fury.

"Not like this, Robin," she responded honestly. "We're taking you in."

 _"Enlighten her,"_ Slade commanded.

The corners of Robin's mouth shot upward, revealing his tainted canines as he grinned horribly. Raven kept her eyes on him even though her stomach curdled. He was more than a stranger now. He was a demon.

"Hm…" he hummed cockily as he pretended to mull her threat over. "I don't think so."

As he spoke, a burst of eye-watering smoke exploded from the floor. She lost concentration and her hold on Robin evaporated. His fist came crashing through the fog. With a cry, she dodged his shot, leapt backward, and ran.

 _"Don't let her get away!"_

Grin intact, Robin obeyed with a low yap of laughter.

Raven, meanwhile, was intently focused on her feet. She weaved through the narrow aisles of the warehouse, dashing hectically around the obscured corners of the storage containers that formed defacto walls of the maze-like room.

Robin was faster than her, but she only needed to keep his attention for a few seconds…

...but a few seconds came faster than she anticipated.

Something hard knocked into her from behind. Leathered hands wrapped around her waist as they tackled her. Her body bruised and teared as it smacked against the ground and slid.

Immediately, Robin had her pinned, dead to rights. His hands pressed mercilessly into her shoulders and his knees dug painfully into her lower back.

"You can't leave without saying goodbye," he growled in a rasp. "Not this time."

Raven's eyes went black.

Robin felt her skin sizzle.

He swore.

She smirked.

"Bye."

A torrent of sparkling, mystic magic threw him back like a ragdoll.

In mid-flight, he acrobatically whisked out and tossed both of his remaining dirks at her downed form.

" _Azarath Metrion Zinthos!"_

Raven's mystic incantation rippled through the air, echoing profoundly. She spun around on the ground and made a slashing motion with her arm.

Two feet from her, the daggers were snapped in half by an unseen force and clattered to the floor, ineffective.

Thwarted, Robin's momentum carried him until he slammed into a nearby container. The unyielding metal pounded his body and knocked him down to all fours. His skeleton screamed with hurt, rattling and ringing alarmingly.

Yet, through the pain, he heard Slade's cruel, callous voice say:

 _"Get up."_

Groaning, Robin shook his throbbing head, reorienting it, and swayed to a standing position.

Raven was also back on her feet, facing him from ten yards away.

They squared off.

Her arms were laced with occult black. Her hood was splayed around her slight shoulders, revealing her tangled, lilac hair. Her heart-shaped, pale face glowed in the dark. Her countenance was stubborn and her large blue-purple eyes were in sparkling slits as she regarded him with upmost loathing.

He knew that expression well.

 _"Finish her,_ " Slade decreed, unimpressed.

Robin leaned down and extracted the hunting knife from the holster strapped to his lower calf. He raised it to the level of his eyes and returned her glare with one of his own.

"Where's the rest of the team?" he wondered, taking a deliberate step.

"You'll see."

He crept closer and cocked his head.

"Let me guess," he mocked, swerving to the right. "Ambush?"

She mimicked him.

"Something like that."

He tossed the dagger back and forth between his hands.

Raven didn't flinch. Her stare was steady and fixed.

"You can't save me, Rae," Robin stated with a bragging attitude. "It's over."

She kept her voice composed.

"Maybe, maybe not," she conceded vaguely.

" _Stop chatting and end her already."_

He took three more slow strides.

She didn't react to his taunt.

The ropes of magic swathed around her arms undulated like iridescent steam. The scent of witchcraft tickled his nose.

"You're too late," he snapped, disregarding Slade's order. "You had your chance."

"If you say so."

It was _irritating_ him, how passive she was.

"How long has it been? _"_ he wondered scathingly, trying to throw her off-guard. "A month? Two months?"

"We couldn't find you, Robin."

He barked out a hollow laugh.

"You gave up."

"No," Raven retorted confidently, going on the offensive. " _You_ did."

" _Robin. You're trying my patience."_

He jerked his head. His upper lip twitched, spasmed. He dropped to the ground in a hostile crouch.

Raven subtly widened her stance.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he said in a deadened tone.

Despite his attempt at nonchalance, his budding fury gonged across the mind-link, clear and strong.

"We _both_ know that's a lie," Raven retorted with a victorious smirk.

He growled lowly in response.

"Wow. I'm _so_ scared."

Robin's unnerving expression disappeared and flattened. He frowned and leaned forward. Raven stiffened.

"You should be."

 _"_ _I'm only going to say this one last time..."_

 _"_ Is this the part where I'm supposed to be intimidated?"

 _"...attack!"_

Without another word, Robin pounced.

She was ready for him.

"TITANS, GO!"

Hiding in the dark above their heads, Starfire dropped Cyborg from twenty feet up just as Robin went airborne.

Cyborg's full weight smashed into the boy wonder's flying back and he crashed. Snarling, he scrambled away before Cyborg could finish pulverizing him.

Robin reached for a smoke pellet in his pocket, but a large, green bear rammed into his side and knocked him, headfirst, against one of the surrounding containers.

By some miracle, he held onto the hunting knife, but the earpiece was not so lucky.

On impact, it tumbled out and shattered.

" _ROBI_ —!" Slade's voice cut off and disappeared.

"Master?" Robin murmured, stupefied, clutching his pounding skull.

Yet, he had no time to process this monkey wrench as a threatening presence suddenly loomed behind him.

Acting on pure instinct, he pirouetted and ducked just as another one of Beast Boy's swipes came for him.

As he dodged the attack, Robin slashed into the changeling's extended forearm, cutting it twice with precise strikes.

The blade went deep. Dark, jade blood leaked out. The bear roared in pain. His cries reverberated like cathedral bells in the warehouse. His other paw struck out blindly as he retreated, batting Robin away.

Backpedaling, Robin stumbled into something hard.

"OH, YOU DID NOT JUST DO THAT!"

He spun around, knife raised, but Cyborg caught his wrist and twisted it. The blade fell to the floor, spraying a mixture of Christmas-colored blood.

"Let... _GO_!"

The boy wonder struggled with all of his vicious strength. He plowed a brutal fist into Cyborg's organic cheek.

The Titan spat blood and dropped to a knee, but he did not release Robin's arm.

Savage and desperate, the apprentice fell upon him. He was rewarded for his frenzy. With each furious kick and hit, the human fetter on his wrist loosened.

Just when he was about to regain his freedom, something stopped him mid-punch:

" _Azarath Metrion Zinthos!"_

Robin snapped his head up just in time to hear Raven's chant.

" _NO!"_

Whisking back around, Robin pressed a boot into Cyborg's face, gripped the robot's arm, and heaved.

" _LET. GO. LET. GO. LET. GO!"_ he roared, all to no avail.

His heart began to deafen him. The walls were closing in.

Too late, black, sparkly tendrils snaked around his neck and legs. They pulled him off Cyborg, who still had him in a vice.

Robin's arms were then spread as if he were being crucified; Raven and Cyborg pulled him in opposite directions.

He was forced to his knees as more glittering magic enveloped him and spread.

He couldn't move.

The sorcerous shadows were creeping up his shoulders and down into his legs, rooting and pressing him down. His neck shook under the weight. Only his torso remained untouched. The steel 'S' on his chest winked.

" _LET ME GO_!" he howled.

"NOW, STAR!"

A spark of emerald flame shot out of the dark.

As it hurtled toward him, bright green overpowered the darkness and painted everything in its iridescent glow.

His eyes widened and he cried:

" _SLADE! HELP ME!"_

But his plea fell on deaf ears.

The starbolt hit Robin square in the chest.

Pain overwhelmed him. His vision blackened.

He went slack in the Titans' clutches with a final, strangled gasp.


	24. Chapter 24

**A:N: You all are so supportive and amazing. It's awesome and so, so appreciated.**

 **In other news, this chapter is a tad evil and it may have you wondering "WTF?!", but I had a ton of fun writing it. Let me know what you think! Enjoy! :)**

* * *

 _ **"I'm cornered in fire so break out the secrets. I hope you know that you were worth it all along. I'm tired, you're angry, and everyone looks blurry. I love you. I'm leaving; so long."**_

* * *

"…let me talk…"

"…serious…?!"

"…dude…c'mon…"

"The transport…"

"… _five_ minutes!"

The chorus of voices grew louder outside the door, prodding Robin awake.

Still dizzy, his heavy eyelids fluttered open grudgingly.

The vague, blurry images that surrounded him were foreign: a bright, white landscape with splotches of dark brown. An oppressive fluorescent fixture flared above him. He winced and jerked his head to the side, trying to escape the light which burned his retinas; however, he soon found that such movement was impossible.

"What…?" he murmured, squinting.

Furrowing his brow, he realized he was seated upon something cold and hard. The chilly zing of unrelenting metal pressed into his entire backside, forcing him to sit painfully straight. He hissed and arched his spine.

What's more, there was a heavy pressure on his wrists, ankles, and neck which kept him anchored, restrained. As he shifted and stirred, the unmistakable jangle of chains chimed. Yes, now he could feel the familiar braids of iron digging into him, pinning him.

He swallowed and his Adam's Apple fought against the chain cinched around his upper throat—an industrial noose. Clenching his teeth, he gave a petulant yank against the restraints, yet they only responded with rattling laughs.

Blinking furiously, clarity reluctantly returned to his vision. The dull blobs solidified into a setting.

The room he sat in was tiny, smaller than his bedroom back at the haunt.

It was a perfect square. The concrete walls were bleached of color. The sandstone floors had a thin layer of dirt and were peppered with branching cracks. Robin was positioned behind a rough wooden table that took up half the space. Another, empty, chair sat across from him forebodingly.

He managed to rotate his head a few inches to the right and caught a glimpse of a sturdy-looking door. There was also the unmistakable red flicker of a security camera. It was nestled in the corner, whirring softly.

His steel-fortified chair had a high back and several sizeable holes poked through it. His chains weaved and looped through them, stitching him to his seat. Testing them, he wriggled and squirmed, bucked and thrashed.

The shackles only grew tighter; if he kept at it, he would strangle himself.

" _Great..._ "

Memories came next, albeit slowly.

His head was still sore from being smashed repeatedly into the ridged metal of the storage containers. His chest stung and throbbed—burned. In fact, there wasn't an area of his body untouched by pain. He didn't need a mirror to know that he looked like hell.

The reflection couldn't be worse than how he felt.

As he recollected, ghostly voices trickled into his fogged mind.

 _"Who's the coward now?"_

 _"Don't do it, Robin."_

 _"I'm only going to say this one more time: attack!"_

 _"SLADE! HELP ME!"_

His eyes widened.

Enlightened, he remembered the crux: he had _lost._

Suddenly nauseous, his stomach gave a great lurch. A rush of saltwater poured onto his tongue.

His breath became shallow, strained. His imprisoned body began to quiver as he realized what this meant.

Slade was going to kill him.

Correction: Slade was going to kill _everyone._

His master's wrath would come like an inevitable storm cloud, a mighty hurricane migrating across the ocean. If Robin didn't report back soon, there was no telling what could happen. His team could be destroyed at any second.

"No…no… _no_!" he howled.

Suddenly, the door handle twisted. The bolt clicked and the hinge creaked.

Robin's ears pricked and he straightened, molding his brow into a fearsome glower. A rush of venom soured his expression, darkening it. His blanched eyes burned a hole through his frayed half-mask.

A bright horizon of violet and crimson encroached upon his peripheral.

With its arrival, a host of strong perfumes embraced him: incense, lavender, sandalwood, strawberry shampoo, flowers, and something else completely unidentifiable—an enthralling scent. It was alien, yet horribly familiar, to his senses.

It had a fiery, spicy quality to it, like charred cinnamon or spiked nutmeg or a bonfire of gingersnaps. Even though he could never replicate or clearly define it, he nonetheless knew it intimately.

The aroma assaulted him, whispered tormenting things to his calloused heart. It wouldn't be long before he was ensnared, captivated, by its power. Having been lost in the labyrinth of Slade's dark underworld for weeks, he was completely unprepared.

He both despised and loved the heady perfume, just as he both despised and loved its owner. In the heat of battle, he could overlook her, could turn her into another faceless enemy. In private, he had no defense mechanism against her wiles. Already he could feel an unbearable thrill singing through his love-starved body.

Slade may have beat the hero out of him, but the teenage boy remained as stubborn and hormonal as ever. True love is hard, if not impossible, to break.

Starfire glided past him.

Robin stiffened and blushed, hating himself.

Wisps of her long, bright red tendrils caressed his upper arm.

He cringed. His neck was hot to the touch.

She drifted forward, seemingly oblivious to him. Her strong, tan fingers hovered mere inches from the edge of the table. Her clear nails sparkled. Ropes of leaden muscle accented her bare arms and legs. Camouflaged scars marred her bronzed skin every now and then, hinting to her bloody past.

There was little doubt of Starfire's exotic, otherworldly beauty, yet it did not detract from her impressive skill and obvious experience in battle. Indeed, it heightened her menace—the perfect face of a destroying angel.

Knowing this, Robin still could not stop himself from analyzing her. He could not control his ravenous eyes that roamed and studied every detail in each strand of hair that spilled down her back in a scarlet waterfall.

Radiant ruby was the strongest shade, painting her thick mess of locks with streaks of glossy rose; however, looking closely, one could also detect varying tones of purple and orange and pink and gold—the feathers of a phoenix. In the heat of day, her head would be a mane of incomparable flame.

She had been his own, personal sun.

Now, Starfire's oval, sunflower face was sad as she floated to the far corner of the room. She did not meet his eye, even though he stared at her like a famished dog. Indeed, Robin paid little mind to Raven, who had taken the seat across from him.

"Robin," the Empath greeted icily, trying to win his attention.

Reluctantly, Robin's hidden eyes snapped away from Starfire and focused on the witch.

Her hood was back up, masking the upper half of her facade in shadow. Everything below the nose remained exposed and he could tell by the firm set of her mouth that she was annoyed.

A bit pleased with himself, he gave her a jerk of his restricted chin in return.

"Rae," he said with a smirk.

His voice was cracked, dry—as if he had swallowed a mouthful of sand.

She frowned.

"Er, would you like some water?"

Although the question sounded polite, Robin recognized the veiled threat lurking beneath. He twitched his head side-to-side.

"No thanks," he chirped. "I'm not really in the mood to be drugged."

"We wouldn't—"

"Better safe than sorry," he snapped, cutting off her words.

"Fine," she conceded with a shrug.

She then placed her hands in her lap and stared at him intently for a few seconds.

He gazed calmly back.

Starfire watched their tense conversation from afar, her gem-like eyes darting worriedly.

Finally, Raven cleared her throat.

"We know that Slade is planning to use the thermal blaster as a portable nuclear device," she explained bluntly. "We also know that he recently stole weapons-grade plutonium, and that he hacked into the Federal government's database in an attempt to download an encrypted set of codes that would make his theoretical weapon of mass destruction a reality."

" _I_ did all that," Robin corrected, perplexed. "Not Slade."

"And while Slade failed to secure the codes…"

"No, _I_ failed."

Raven ignored him and spoke on. His nostrils flared.

"…we still don't know who or what his target is."

She paused and gave him weighty look.

"That's where you come in," she finished primly.

Robin flashed his teeth.

"Is it?"

"M-hm," she responded in a confident hum. " _You're_ going to tell us everything we need to know about Slade."

Robin's laughter came out like a wheeze and ended in a haggard cough.

"And if I don't?" he challenged.

Raven took a deep breath.

In the corner, Starfire lowered her head and crossed her arms protectively—Robin's eyes swerved to her melancholy form. Her lower lip was trembling. She was trying very hard not to cry, a bad sign.

"A life sentence in solitary confinement," Raven finally said with a sigh. "The death penalty is...on the table."

"Mm," Robin replied noncomitally, still gazing at Starfire. "That doesn't sound good."

"It isn't," Raven snapped. "But if you help us, the feds are willing to deal—we can maybe even get you cleared. We know Slade's the mastermind behind all of this, not you."

Robin stayed silent, but his anger was less reserved.

"The only catch is that you have to tell me where Slade is _right_ now or the deal's off," Raven continued with an accent of bitterness.

"Ah, an ultimatum," Robin muttered, captivated by the tear slowly trickling down Starfire's cheek. "Lucky me..."

"You're _lucky_ that they're giving you one at all," Raven growled. "These jarheads wanted to draw and quarter you the second we took you into custody and I don't blame them. Slade's hurt a lot of people, Robin."

The bottled-up fury broke through the dam and flooded through him.

He glared murderously at Raven.

"You just don't get it, do you?" he snarled, furious. "This was _my_ choice, Raven. Mine. I wasn't brainwashed, I don't have Stockholm syndrome—I'm not the helpless _victim_ you think I am. _I_ stole the blaster _and_ the plutonium. _I_ hurt those people. _I'm_ to blame for all of this!"

Starfire made a noise of complaint while Raven merely waited patiently for his speech to end.

"That's bullshit, Robin, and it's beside the point," the Empath retorted evenly. "Even if what you said was true—which it _isn't—_ you can't deny Slade's involvement. Just tell us where he is and I _promise_ I can get you out of here. You can come home."

His heart stirred but his mind cemented.

"I'm done talking."

Raven rolled her eyes and pushed away from the table. She knew a lost cause when she saw—felt—one.

"Fine. Have it your way. Enjoy prison."

She glanced over her shoulder and barked:

"We're leaving."

Starfire hesitated and gave her Titan teammate a pleading look.

Raven grumbled out another one of her characteristic sighs and snapped:

"You have two minutes."

Cloak fluttering, she left the room, glowering at Robin as she went.

Starfire and Robin were left alone. Old, stupid feelings began to simmer under his skin.

He shifted his gaze forward, determined not to take the bait. He counted the cracks in the wall.

 _1...2...3...4...5..._

"R-robin?" Starfire whimpered into the awkward silence. "Please, you are my best friend. I cannot be in a world where we must fight."

She took a step forward, hand extended, but his expression was distant, cold. Her arm slowly lowered and she turned her face away. She bit her lip and stifled a snivel.

 _...6...7...8...9..._

"If you are truly… _evil_ ," she had a hard time spitting out the infamous adjective. "Then go ahead. Do what you must..."

Her chin trembled and her throat was thick with sorrow, but the words were clear—and heartbreaking. He ground his molars, fighting his petulant heart. A bulging vein sprouted up the side of his neck and branched into his temple.

 _...10...11...11?_

She sniffed loudly. He lost concentration.

Unable to resist, his stare drifted.

It locked onto her and he knew immediately that it was hopeless.

His very lungs betrayed him as her name exited through his clenched teeth like an exorcised ghost:

"S-starfire…" he whispered in a pained, broken hiss.

Her head snapped up.

Her bejeweled emerald irises drilled into him like a javelin.

Starfire took several steps forward, approaching him purposefully. Magnetized, he pulled harder on the restraints. The chain around his neck burrowed into his windpipe, but the discomfort didn't register.

"…but if you are not, then _please!_ " she knelt down right beside him and put a heartfelt hand over his.

He went still as a stone, combating against—and soaking in—her warmth. She was unbearably close. An odd, strange feeling tickled his tongue. His jaw cracked under the pressure; the bones of his face popped as he pestled his teeth.

Nevertheless, his body, which had been so dead and numb and frozen, thumped with new life. The boy within whooped and cheered like a love-struck idiot.

Carefully, gently, Starfire turned his wrist over, curled her fingers around his, and squeezed. With her other hand, she reached out and stroked the side of his skeletal cheek. He recoiled, but her hand was firm and fixed.

"Come home to us…" she beseeched.

A pleasant sizzle sparked where she touched his skin, melting his icy exterior. Instinctively, he sank deeper into her palm.

It felt so... _good_.

She leaned closer.

Her enthralling perfume ramped up its potency, roasting him in a furnace of paralyzing spice. It crashed through his defenses and seduced his mind—dulling it, stripping it. The warning that shot through the back of his head disappeared, overwhelmed by her influence.

Mouth parted, his hard expression liquefied. He inhaled deeply and licked his lips, savoring the delicious air.

"…to _me._ "

Her breath tickled his carved cheek.

A moan mixed with a growl rumbled out of his throat.

Starfire's lovely, sun-kissed face blocked out everything, made him forget everything.

What had she said? What did she want from him?

"H-home?" he stammered.

Happiness began to dance in her eyes. Relief flooded her countenance. She nodded at him with a dazzling smile, paralyzing him further.

His lips twitched upward in a stupid, sad grin.

Her beam widened spectacularly, dimples blazing.

Slowly, Starfire detangled her fingers from his and lifted them to the other side of his face. She cradled his head in her hands.

Slack-jawed, he was utterly hypnotized.

His neck bruised as he struggled to get closer.

Seeing what he wanted, she obliged him without complaint. Their noses almost touched. He wanted to obliterate the miniscule distance between them.

Her exhales were tropical. Her eyes were in full bloom. Her lips were rosy petals, perfectly curved and open. Her wild, bird-of-paradise hair tumbled down her amazon shoulders and framed her golden face—the epitome of Persephone.

He had lived in eternal winter too long. He wanted the sun; he wanted springtime.

She was so close, he could almost taste her. Their heartbeats were almost in sync.

Suddenly, Starfire's expression became serious. The flower closed.

"But you must tell us, Robin," she sighed and his mouth watered. "Where is Slade?"

The bubble popped.

An icy bucket embittered his sultry senses. Thick, black storm clouds blotted out the sky. Freezing sleet burst forth and pelted him. The northern winds returned with a vengeance.

Robin's expression crystalized into permafrost.

He clamped his foolish mouth shut and snarled. Starfire's eyes widened and wilted into despair.

"You're wasting your breath," he spat cruelly, turning away.

Her hands dropped to his shoulders.

"Robin…" she said with a voice full of hurt. "Wh—?"

" _Get the hell away from me, alien!"_

Wolfish, he lunged at her.

Gasping, she flinched and stumbled backward.

The seasons separated.

"I-I do not…I do not... _understand_ …"

He chuckled lowly, apathetically, and twisted the knife.

"You never did."

She began to weep, covering her mouth.

A hinge squealed simultaenously, cutting off Starfire's sobs.

"He's not worth it, Star," a gentle monotone—Raven—encouraged. "C'mon, time's up. Let's go."

Shoulders shaking, Starfire glided briskly out the open door, hiding her swollen eyes. She didn't say another word; she couldn't stand the sight of him.

Raven sighed and spoke no more.

The door slammed shut and the bolt clicked with finality.

As it echoed, the anger leeched out of Robin's face, replaced by agony. He hung his head.

For a moment, it had all seemed possible.

Then, he remembered that what his former friends envisioned was only a fantasy and nothing more. He could never return to Titans Tower. It was no longer his home.

No one double-crossed Slade and lived to tell the tale. As soon as Starfire said that horrid name, the spell she had worked on him vanished.

Slade would know that his apprentice had betrayed him, he _always_ knew. His unholy, Cyclops eye was eternal, immortal, omnipresent. There would be nowhere to hide. It followed Robin like a curse.

He couldn't risk Slade's vengeance, couldn't risk his family's safety, no matter how enticing the dream seemed.

If he was caught...

In his mind, he saw his team splayed and broken, bloody and disfigured—piled over one another in a grotesque burial mound.

No, it would be worse than that.

There wouldn't be a trace of them left.

Then, Robin would truly be all alone.

He saw himself trapped in the dark with Slade, forever. His master's punishment didn't end with the Titans' deaths. No, he would make the boy wonder suffer horror after horror until the end of his long life.

He would string Robin up. He would tear his body apart, piece by piece. There would be no relief, no rest.

Years of hellish torment awaited him.

And Robin would have nothing—not even his memories—to cling to. His friends would be wiped from his mind like a bad dream. They would die true deaths and be erased from existence.

Who would Robin be then?

 _"...truly evil..."_

He felt it already, a wicked presence lurking in the corners of his soul. It sifted and paced, waiting for him to wander deeper into darkness. The fact that his friends continued to live, with or without him, was the only thing holding it at bay.

To save the Titans, he had to break their hearts. To save himself, he had to remain Slade's loyal apprentice.

It was a rotten lot, but it was his.

He couldn't let foolish love corrupt reality.

He leaned his head against the back of the chair and blew out a long, weighty breath, suddenly exhausted.

It was unusually quiet.

He had expected some GJ Joe to come in next, determined to pound the information out of him. Yet, Robin couldn't even hear the buzz of a fly or detect the murmur of secretive whispers humming from behind the locked door.

Maybe this was their strategy? Were they trying to give him a taste of what was to come—a precursor to solitary confinement?

Mulling over these questions, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, adjusting.

He muttered a few choice expletives and gave another useless yank on the cuffs wrapped around his wrists.

Something inexplicable happened then.

The chains _loosened_.

Pitching forward, he raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

The restraint on his neck did not stop him as he moved.

It slid from his throat and collapsed into a bundle on his lap.

Freedom came like a thief in the night.

He lifted his arms and kicked his feet.

The weight of the cuffs disappeared.

He jumped up from the steel chair.

The fetters clattered loudly to the ground.

That was when he noticed an even greater surprise:

The fools hadn't stripped him of his utility belt—nor had they removed the explosive hidden within it.

The security camera swiveled in his direction, but it was too late.

The wall was blown to smithereens just as the sirens began to wail.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Sorry for the lateness! Enjoy.**

* * *

 _ **"It's empty in the valley of your heart. The sun, it rises slowly as you walk away from all the fears and all the faults you've left behind."**_

* * *

Robin's feet were a blur beneath him as he darted through the smoldering hole and into the darkening twilight. As luck would have it, the interrogation room was within spitting's distance of the fence that wound around Area 59; the explosion had ripped right through the electric-laced barrier. Sparks tickled his calves as he leapt over the shattered, wiry skeletons.

When the alarms began to squeal and the dogs began to howl, he was already sprinting into the inky horizon. The desert was vast but an entire day had passed since his capture; he had the cover of new darkness to aid him.

The enemy had the advantage of speed and strength, but Robin had the unparalleled cloak of nightfall.

A new gust of adrenaline was pumping through him, spurring him on. Having just used the last of his arsenal, he had only his fists and mind as his defense. Nevertheless, if Slade had taught him anything, it was how to survive in a harsh environment.

The sand was smooth and thin—a wispy, gravelly surface. His boots crunched softly as they pounded the clumps of dirt into oblivion. The heat of day was dying. It left a cold corpse behind. The wind picked up and danced madly across the desolate plains. It surged under his wings, quickening him and practically lifting him off the ground.

Carried on the gales, Robin could hear the distant rumble of car engines, the squeal of frantic tires, and the shouts of cheated men. The sirens were a low wail, growing fainter and fainter. Within minutes of his hasty departure, the sun's anemic light gave way to complete darkness.

Eyes adjusting, he could barely see an inch in front of his face.

Still, he ran on.

Blindness was a close friend.

His body felt antsy, eager. Although unconscious for most of the time, he had been sitting uncomfortably all day and now he was able to really stretch his legs. He was of medium height and in the awkward stage of growth plates and spurts; however, he ran as if he was a foot taller.

The muscles in his legs contracted and expanded powerfully, propelling him like a torpedo. The wind sang through his hair and strummed his skin. It was an elemental feeling, as if he were just another gust, just another strand in the airstream. Not even his lungs cried for rest. They swelled with a surplus of energy and oxygen. His heart was a steady rhythm, in sync with the pumping of his arms.

Nevertheless, he kept a sharp ear out for approaching obstacles.

He waited for the inevitable nip of a dog at his heels, the warning whistle of a sentry, or the potent stench of Diesel exhaust burping out of a charging Jeep. He took extra precautions: he never ran in a straight line for too long; he zigzagged around cacti and took off in random directions from time to time.

Again, the wind helped him here by obscuring his footprints. The fickle, capricious sand didn't hurt matters.

If he remembered the map correctly, Area 59 had been about twenty or so miles from the nearest road. Robin had traveled here on a turbo-glider and had planned to leave in similar fashion, but that was now a lost cause. He needed distance and needed it fast.

Sadly, the glider was still stashed behind a crop of brush some ten miles back. It waited for a master that would never return. Indeed, Area 59 was not even a blip in his mirror now. It transitioned into a memory. He hoped it would stay that way.

Robin pressed his feet harder into the ground and continued his mad pace—a careening speck in a sea of black.

* * *

 _50 Minutes Later_

The original rendezvous point had been an abandoned gas station a few miles off the main highway, and Robin decided to try there first before retreating all the way back to Jump City or some other hideaway. Within less than an hour, he hit upon an old tributary road and followed it—from a distance—back to the freeway.

The closer he got to the interstate, the closer he got to civilization. Cars bumbled on the obsidian horizon, their dusty headlights blinking sleepily. Billboards sprung out of the earth like rectangular trees. The calming _whoosh_ of speeding trucks greeted his ears. The stench of gasoline hung over him.

When his boots smacked into the smooth, freshly-paved asphalt of the highway, he waited patiently for a lull in the lazy, early morning traffic and then dashed across the two empty lanes.

Running resumed and he went over the directions over and over in his mind: the rendezvous was two to three miles due north of a nearby town, Halcón Garra, which squatted unassumingly near the southern border between California and Nevada.

Keeping at a steady trot, he skirted along the side of the road, avoiding random blobs of streetlight. He scanned the obscured skyline hungrily, searching for a marker.

Finally, the monotonous highway gave birth to an exit.

Robin shadowed it to a single, dusty street and noticed the faint outline of a motel nestled upon a rare hill. Its neon "NO VACANCY" sign was barely perceptible, buzzing and blinking haphazardly.

It was joined by a hodgepodge of blocky, tan buildings decorated in vibrant Mexicana fashion—a tourist destination. Creeping closer, Robin noticed a sunny, brightly colored banner draped above the lonely road, hanging between rooftops. The billowy, painted cloth fluttered ominously in the desert wind.

" _BIENVENIDO A_ _HALCÓN_ _GARRA!_ " it read in bold yellows and reds.

Relief surged through Robin. Luck was with him...for now.

He trudged up to the top of the hill and looked around, squinting.

The town was dead. Curtains were drawn and the doors were locked tight. A pair of beat-up pickup trucks were parked on the curb beside the motel, lonely and hollow. Quaint, antiquated lampposts lined the dusted sidewalks, giving off subdued light. Their filigreed, iron spines rattled. Trash shuffled across the street, the only perceivable pedestrians.

Still, he didn't trust appearances and wanted to be as far away from prying eyes, or the potential for them, as possible.

Robin continued on, skulking behind the backs of the buildings and gaining an unobstructed view of the black valley below. It was hours until dawn but, from this advantageous vantage point, he could see relatively far.

It was as if the earth had been swallowed by an indigo void. The moon was a brittle thumbnail, providing little help, and the stars were gems blurred beneath the black waters of the midnight sky.

Nonetheless, a tiny blot of silver sparkled weakly some distance north of him. It seemed to fit the general location of the rendezvous and was the only thing that remotely resembled what he was searching for.

Robin chewed his lip. What if the distance was greater than he thought? What if it was a trick or a trap or an illusion?

As he deliberated, his body made the decision for him. It began to mutiny.

He was tired, hungry, thirsty—the usual suspects. The temperature was a notch above freezing and it warred with his flushed, sweaty skin. If he didn't keep moving, the cold and fatigue would overwhelm and paralyze him.

Adding insult to injury, his boots were stuffed with sand and thistles. His face was raw and encrusted with a thick layer of prickly dirt. His ripped uniform was covered in grime and sweat and blood. He had run thirty miles on empty and his engine was sputtering, dying.

A surge of exhaustion suddenly made his knees go weak. He snarled softly and clenched his hands into fists, fighting the lethargy.

"C'mon…" he urged himself in a mumble, shaking his head. "C'mon…just a few more miles…you can do it…"

Resigned, Robin sucked in a breath and pushed off, flying down the hill. The bottoms of his feet complained loudly while thorns stabbed his ankles. He muttered expletives every other step, grinding his jaw.

The initial adrenaline of escape had been watered down, leaving him in a regretful state:

He should have hijacked a Jeep while he had the chance.

He should have waited for the Titans to transfer him to a different location.

He should have listened to Slade.

He should have told Raven _everything_.

If he had chosen any of these options, maybe he wouldn't be stuck here, running from everyone and anyone. His thoughts were marred with self-pity and worry. He had gotten himself into this mess, and he would have to find a way out of it or die trying.

Nevertheless, as he raced toward what he hoped was a dilapidated gas station, he prayed that Slade had decided to stay there after all—that, for once, his master waited for him.

* * *

The map in his head had not failed him.

Dead-tired but victorious, Robin staggered up to the gas station.

The station had only two pumps, which were clearly out of service being as that the hoses were severed—their bodies lay on the ground like decapitated snakes. The propane tank had been stripped away. A gray square marked the spot where it used to stand.

The adjoining, rectangular building had a giant hole torn in the side of it. Debris and trash leaked out and floated dreamily into the night before being caught on the spines of surrounding cacti.

One of the two glass doors was missing. The one that remained hung on by the skin of its hinge. It clattered disconcertingly, tossed to and fro by the wind, making a rakous.

Graffiti tagged every solid inch of the place. Spindly weeds pushed through the blacktop surface and crept up the sides of the derelict pumps—the desert ocean reclaiming the asphalt island.

The wind, which had been his ally earlier, turned vindictive. It chewed on Robin's skin ruthlessly and ate away at his heat. It stole sound and siphoned off his last stores of energy.

Dragging his feet, Robin stumbled through the darkened entrance, wheezing and coughing. His arms were coiled around him and his shoulders hunched as they sought solace from the bitter gusts.

The interior was only marginally better than the station's facade.

There were no shelves or counters or aisles. Rubbish of all stripes littered the deteriorated tile floor. The cracked crater in the concrete wall to the right of the doorway was half his size, letting in an insidious breeze. There were dents in the ceiling from where light fixtures once hung. A faded green stripe ran around the room, but it was mostly obscured by the more vibrant graffiti.

All in all, it was a large, sad, and empty place but, despite the leak, it gave decent shelter from the malicious elements.

That aspect was welcomed, but it wasn't what Robin sorely needed.

Slade was nowhere to be seen. The place was deserted.

The apprehension that he had ignored was nonetheless confirmed.

Defeated, he sank weightily to the floor, to his knees. His teeth chattered as he hung his head.

Morning was fast approaching. The clock, his eternal enemy, was against him yet again.

He only had hours until the exposing light of day; however, he knew he could travel no further. He would have to wait until tomorrow night to continue his journey and yet time was a luxury he did not possess.

There was no telling when the soldiers would catch his scent and swarm him. The unruly wind and tumultuous sand had muddied his trail, but the dogs would not be deterred forever.

There were only so many places to hide in a flat desert. Could he hold out here for a day?

On the other hand, the window of opportunity was closing. He still had surprise and confusion on his side. If he stopped now, he allowed his enemy time to strategize and coordinate. Should he at least _try_ while he had the chance? Was it even possible?

His legs shook at the thought alone. An anemic tint colored his wan cheeks.

The haunt was easily one hundred miles away and had the added monkey wrench of being impossible to find without Slade. If Robin managed—by some miracle—to smuggle his way into Jump City, he would be a sitting duck, a dog scratching at a locked door.

Frustrated, he groaned throatily. His breath came out as crystallized fog.

" _Idiot,_ " he snarled halfheartedly at himself.

The wind outside howled, mocking him. Remains of paper bags and fast-food containers swirled around him in a parodic blizzard. Warped soda cans and bottles clanged and jingled. Frigid air filtered through the three-foot hole in the wall, piercing his frozen flesh.

He shivered and rubbed his numb arms, fighting a losing battle against the cold. Waves of exhaustion came unabated now, dulling his senses. His thoughts were sluggish, stale.

Resigned, Robin knew he wouldn't make it another mile out there. His body screamed for rest. His eyelids were leaden.

Sighing, he pushed off the ground stiffly and began rummaging about.

In the corner of the station, he happened upon a few scraps of grubby cloth and a bundle of mashed-down trash—the remnants of a vagrant's burrow leftover from the warmer months. In the late fall, drifters migrated out of the wild desert and into temperate California, for winter nights in the Mojave could be unpredictable and vicious.

Robin was learning this lesson the hard way.

He gathered as many bits of usable material as he could find and built his own nest. A torn sack labeled "CORN" served as his blanket. His mattress was made of strips of newspaper, patches of linen, and smashed plastic. He constructed his makeshift bed as far from the wind's evil influence as possible, but he could not avoid it completely.

He did not know what the future held for him. In fact, he did not know if he would have one at all after tonight. But the worries of his brain were drowned out by the complaints of his body. It would not rest until it rested, and Robin could not argue with it. He lost the will to move, to fight.

He petrified.

His fatigue was so persuasive that as soon as he curled up against the stained wall—huddling under the flimsy burlap of the vegetable sack—his eyelids fell like final curtains.

A deep darkness overtook him and he fell into a shattered slumber.


	26. Chapter 26

_**"It feels good to know you're mine. Now drive me far away. I don't care where just far."**_

* * *

 _Twenty Minutes Later_

Slade's steps were sighs of shadow. Each stride was the epitome of lethal grace, a predator stalking. The moonlight above reflected off the copper side of his mask, throwing off faint, bronzed rays of light—the only witness to his presence.

Gusts of dirt-saturated wind danced around his legs as he walked calmly toward a rundown gas station. His eye flicked down. The boot-prints he followed were faint, almost completely obliterated by mischievous whirlpools of wind.

Slade frowned. His apprentice was beyond fortunate that the elements of nature were on his side.

The wind ensured a tangled scent; the dogs would be chasing their tails until the air stilled. Their Area 59 masters would be even more helpless. They did not possess the strength of mind and body to track and re-capture the elusive boy wonder in this kind of weather. The Teen Titans posed more of problem; however, they were nowhere to be seen.

By some stroke of impossible luck, Robin had managed to evade his former friends.

Yet, Robin's skill did not bring a smirk of pride to Slade's hidden face. A glare was burrowed deep in his brow. His eye sparkled with maddened malice. His black-gloved hands curled into fists and the leather crackled, popped.

Good fortune or not, Robin had some _explaining_ to do. He had disobeyed a direct order _and_ failed to achieve the mission's objective. It would take months to clean up his mess; Slade's plans had suffered a major setback. Robin's ability to stick the landing did not excuse his miserable performance.

Slade's skin began to tingle with a renewed rush of barely restrained fury as he stepped through the gas station's open doorway. Disgusted, his apprentice had not even deigned to booby-trap his temporary shelter. Robin lay exposed, unprotected, where anyone could find him.

His escape was not just lucky, it was an act of downright divine intervention; if his adversaries had possessed any wit, Robin wouldn't have lasted the night out here. He would have been found, captured… _stolen_.

Slade's jaw clenched. A vein bugged out along the side of his neck, bulging and throbbing. His indigo eye flashed in warning and his pupil contracted and smoldered like a blistering coal. The muscles in his biceps and back coiled.

The boy belonged to _him_ ; Robin was _his_ property. He had not spent two months of training and torture and social engineering to see his greatest triumph fall into enemy hands. He would slaughter anyone who dared to rob him of his prize.

No one would take what was rightfully Slade's.

Angered that Robin had put himself in such a weak position—and after a failed mission no less!—Slade slithered up to the corner where his apprentice lay sleeping, blissfully unaware, planning to beat the boy into oblivion for his foolishness.

He stood over his apprentice like a gargoyle, assessing Robin's pathetic state with a critical eye.

Robin was nestled in a pile of trash with a farmer's burlap sack serving as a blanket. He was curled into an impossibly tight ball, a testament to his extreme flexibility. Still, his gymnast body was not completely covered by the vegetable sack. His characteristic, midnight hair was tangled in a mesh of plastic rings and the soles of his boots poked out from under the burlap.

Slade had to give the kid credit. Robin had camouflaged himself rather well. To the untrained eye, he would appear to be just another piece of rubbish—a lumpy bag amidst a pile of garbage. Slade lowered to the ground and pulled back the "blanket" just enough to see his apprentice face. Robin flinched away from the sudden rush of cold but did not awaken.

He was knocked out.

Slade narrowed his eye, unsure whether to be impressed that Robin had managed to run over thirty miles to the rendezvous without getting caught or enraged that his apprentice had been too weak to hijack his way back to Jump City. There were several trucks just begging to be stolen in the nearby town. If Robin had not trusted himself to drive, Slade was sure that a Good Samaritan would have stopped for a battered, semi-conscious boy on the side of the highway.

Then again, such actions could have brought other complications.

Robin suddenly gave a great sleepy exhale, snapping Slade out of his deliberations. He turned his attention back to the matter at hand. Leaning forward, he flung back the rest of the burlap blanket mercilessly. The boy gave an unhappy shiver and mumble, but his eyes were welded shut. Within seconds, his expression smoothed out and he drifted back into leaden slumber.

Under the mask, Slade raised a brow.

Robin looked like he had gone several rounds with a mountain.

He was covered in dirt, painted in bruises, and splattered with rust-colored blood. There was a jagged tear in his uniform that ran from the right side of his back, over his shoulder, and down his side. His entire upper arm and part of his torso were exposed; the black sleeve hung by a thread.

The pallid, bruise-battered skin of his chest was stretched to breaking point over his ribs and clavicle. Angry red burns peeked from beneath his steel collar, buried in filth. A gash marked his temple and was accompanied by a tender, purple-black entourage. His destroyed mask stuck to his face by sheer will alone.

Robin was tapped, that much was clear. Dragging him back to Jump City, stumbling and staggering, would only slow them down.

Slade gave a throaty snarl of annoyance. The tribulation Robin had endured getting here would have to suffice as punishment for now. Slade very well couldn't make Robin see the error of his ways until the boy opened his eyes.

Frowning, Slade put aside his righteous wrath. Once Robin was safely secured back in the haunt, Slade would have decades, an entire lifetime, to re-educate his young apprentice.

The worst had yet to come for Richard Grayson.

Mildly placated, Slade re-covered Robin in the burlap sack and picked the swaddled boy up like a new father. Robin's black-feathered head leaned against Slade's chest while his reedy legs dangled—cradled.

He was light; the kid couldn't have weighed more than 100 pounds.

Sensing movement, Robin stirred. The comatose boy muttered a few unintelligible quips before succumbing once more to darkness. He then buried his forehead into Slade's shoulder, seeking warmth. The villain sighed, partly irritated and partly amused.

"Lucky bird," Slade muttered as he turned and walked toward the door. "You've just been granted a stay of execution."

* * *

 _A Few Hours Later_

Eyelids fluttering, Robin's return to the waking world was not what he expected.

The rumble of an engine thrummed through him. The whirr of tires rushing across silky, newly paved asphalt hummed a greeting. His view was no longer the unseemly sight of a stained, decrepit gas station floor but that of a spotless car interior. Streetlights danced across the windshield, flashed across his dazed face, and illuminated the front seat of a massive pickup truck.

Robin was curled like a cat in the passenger seat.

His mask had been stripped from his face. His arms were wrapped around his knees while his head was tucked against his chest. Drool dribbled down his chin and his eyes were crusted over with sand; his eyelashes stuck together. Gaining consciousness, his senses jolted back to life in painful resurrection.

An involuntary gasp spilled from his split lip.

"Ow…"

His entire body throbbed like a second, agonizing heartbeat. Sleeping in an awkward position had not helped. His sore shoulders were stiff and his neck was a lump of petrified wood. Nostrils flared, he straightened in his seat and was rewarded with a few satisfying crackles of his spine.

He lifted a hand to massage the back of his neck and froze as realization smacked into him like a belated bullet. His now-unmasked eyes darted to the side.

Sure enough, there was Slade… _driving_.

Unlike Robin, the villain appeared utterly unfazed. He had one hand on the steering wheel while the other elbow leaned casually upon an arm rest. An impressive, surround-sound stereo pumped out soft, ambiguous beats. A temperate breeze filtered out from the air-vents.

It was still dark outside; the sun remained buried beneath the horizon. The headlights of Slade's tank-like truck cut through the oppressive night like twin blades. The black of Slade's uniform blended into the dark; the steel guards on his forearms, shoulders, legs, and neck appeared to be disembodied, floating in a pool of shadow.

The car passed by a particularly bright neon billboard and Slade's form was fully illuminated—revealed for all to see like a magic trick. Bright blues, purples, greens and reds fought for dominance, painting him in a kaleidoscope of fluorescent color. The metal he wore glittered like a sky full of multicolored stars as the entire front seat was bathed in a brief, brilliant moment of vibrant radiance. As the truck continued its mad, 100-mph pace, the master and apprentice sunk quickly back into the molasses-thick darkness. Red spots clung stubbornly to Robin's sight as night embraced him once more.

His naked brow crumpled in bemused confusion. Was he still dreaming? He gave his leg a pinch. The ensuing sting answered with a clear negative.

Swallowing thickly, he unfurled his limbs and readjusted in his seat. The brush of his body against the leather sounded like a ricocheting boom in the intense quiet of the car. Slade's head twitched to the side. His eye pierced through the dark. The force of it smashed into Robin's head like an arrow to the temple.

He stiffened, hardly daring to breathe.

Slade didn't have to say a word. His glare easily communicated his repulsed disappointment. He would neither forget nor forgive Robin's blatant defeat at the hands of the Titans. Robin supposed he should be lucky that he wasn't presently hogtied and gagged on the roof of the truck.

Slade's eye narrowed into a slit of black fire that left Robin trembling before he returned his blazing gaze to the road.

Released from Slade's spellbinding stare, Robin breathed a noiseless sigh of relief. His teeth picked at the scabs on his cut lip as fresh fear bloomed inside. If he had any self-preservation left, he would leap through the window and take his chances with road rash. Having his skin ripped off couldn't be much worse than what Slade had in store for him.

Then again, being skinless probably wouldn't be enough to earn Robin mercy. Only death could stay Slade's torturous hand...if that.

Shuddering, Robin took to studying his surroundings, desperate for distraction.

The hood of the truck was a glossy black, the windows were heavily tinted, and the seats were made of crisp, black leather. He stole a glance over his shoulder. The back seat was equally flawless and vacant of life. The car was almost _too_ pristine. Robin couldn't find a scuff on the leather, a scratch on the carbon dashboard, a stain on the carpeted floor, or a fingerprint on the steering wheel. Robin became very conscious of his filth—his seat was covered in dirt and flakes of dried blood.

The interior didn't feel lived in and yet the unmistakable musk of Slade was imprinted into it—a sickly sweet aroma that tickled the nose and raised the hair on the back of his neck. It was akin to cologne mixed with bleach or the antiseptic, anesthetic stench of a surgeon's operating room: cold, clean, callous.

In that regard, the truck was a perfect representation of the man who supposedly owned it.

"Go back to sleep, apprentice," Slade ordered suddenly, making Robin jump out of his skin. "After all..."

His eerie, high-tenor was as smooth and deadly as spider's silk. Neither the steering wheel nor the car budged a millimeter as Slade twisted around to glower at Robin.

"...you'll _need_ it," he hissed.

Robin's blood froze. A tremor spread from the backs of his heels to the crown of his head.

Slade's eye flashed like a black diamond. The bronze of his mask radiated dimly, fighting back the shadows.

The temperature seemed to plunge and dwindle into single digits. A shiver electrified Robin's spine. His mouth went dry. His lips and fingers numbed.

"Yes-s, m-master," he stuttered, bowing his head submissively.

He didn't have to be told twice. The tang of sleep hadn't left his body yet, anyway.

With Slade watching like a hawk, Robin lifted his spongy legs from the floor and crossed them, Buddha style. He let his shoulders and arms sag, dangle into his lap. He then leaned his head against the seat and closed his eyes. The tickle of lukewarm air hit his chest, caressing bare skin.

The sensation surprised him and he slowly lifted his hand and let curious fingers hover over the gaping rip in his uniform. His right sleeve was almost completely severed, revealing his entire shoulder and a considerable section of his upper torso. The throbbing sting of scalded, oozing blisters greeted his roaming touch. The trail of burns ran from his collarbone to his hips—Starfire's doing, no doubt.

A frown pulled at his lips as he remembered the interrogation room incident. The whole thing seemed like a strange dream.

Raven truly didn't seem to give a damn about him while Starfire...

He licked his lips.

She had never been so transparent, so passionate. The influence she had over him was disturbing to say the least. He hadn't been expecting that.

A rush of blush raced into his pallid cheeks. His blood became heated and gushed like white-river currents under his skin. A vicious, ancient hunger bellowed a deafening roar within him. God, he _wanted_ her.

The imprint of her perfume was carved into his mind; the overpowering sparkle of her eyes called to him like a siren's song. And the way her flaming mane of scarlet hair tickled the curves of her hips...

He chomped his canines and stifled the desirous growl that threatened to rip out of his chest.

 _They were just playing good cop, bad cop._ Robin told himself, trying to clear the lump that had formed in his throat. _It wasn't real._

Still, something nagged him about the entire exchange. It wasn't just Raven's well-acted apathy or Starfire's seduction that made him suspicious.

The ardor of his passions subsided, replaced by cooled calculation.

He had expected, counted on, a fight with the Titans after blowing the interrogation room to smithereens. Yet, they never came. They hadn't even tried to catch him.

What's more, they never checked him for weapons beforehand, a rookie mistake, and had placed him in one of the most vulnerable areas of the entire complex. Then there was the mysterious matter of his restraints unlocking by themselves...

It was almost as if the Titans had _wanted_ him to escape. But that couldn't be right, he thought. His former friends would rather die than let Robin fall back into Slade's hands, right? That's why they kept trying to get through to him, why Starfire had attempted—in vain—to coax him back into the fold, and why Raven had tried again and again to burrow into his mind.

His escape had been a rare moment of good luck, that's all. Who knows, maybe Slade had orchestrated the whole thing.

Robin's fingers massaged his exposed collarbone absentmindedly.

Whatever the reason for his miraculous escape, it wasn't like it made any difference now. The master and apprentice had been reunited. Robin was back in his cage, safe and sound. Why should he care about the plan that the Titans had up their sleeve, if they had one at all? He shouldn't worry himself, shouldn't kid himself. His former team's naive hope would soon fail them. Of this, he had no doubt.

The Teen Titans would have to learn, just as he did, that no one could stop Slade.

Emphasizing that point, Robin gave a great, feline-like yawn. Apathy won out over curiosity; his mind went blank. Unseen weights blanketed his body, dragging him back down into dreamy waters.

He slumped in his seat and drifted into darkness, utterly convinced of Slade's invincibility.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: This chapter was incredibly fun to write. The parallels of fatherhood apparent in the Apprentice arc needed to addressed. Enjoy!~ :)**

* * *

 ** _"Why won't you let me go? Do I threaten all your plans? I'm insignificant. Please tell 'em. You have no plans for me. I will set my soul on fire. What have I become? I'm sorry."_**

* * *

Lost in the labyrinth of obscure, muddy dreams, Robin slept through the entire rest of the five hour journey back to Jump City. The sun was just beginning to awaken the sky, painting it lavender, as Slade pulled smoothly into the parking lot located on the wharf—home sweet home.

Bland buildings circled around the lot and blocked the view of the sea. Squawking seagulls flitted from roof to roof, swooping down occasionally to nab an abandoned morsel. Other than the birds, there wasn't a soul for miles.

With disquieting nonchalance, Slade killed the engine and the truck died with a final, shuttering roar. He calmly unbuckled his seatbelt and peered over at Robin. The boy hadn't moved an inch in hours. His eyes were firmly shut and his breath came out in soft snores. His face was smooth, peaceful—a far cry from his usual guilt-ridden, rage-filled countenance.

"Robin," Slade cooed in evil imitation. "It's time to wake up."

Robin didn't so much as stir; exhaustion held him in its intoxicating clutches.

In sleep, he looked like his Titan-self again. Despite his sunken cheeks, sickly tint, and vicious haircut, the rough edges and lines of his ashen complexion receded. The knots beneath his skin unraveled and relaxed. His carved jaw was slack and his paper-thin eyelids were tranquil, unwrinkled ponds. There was a lost innocence bobbing to the surface of his bloodied—almost grotesque—exterior, revealing the sixteen-year-old beneath.

Slade smirked; his expression beneath the mask was wicked. Pity he would have to ruin the moment.

He jabbed a button on his vambrace and the backseat floor began to lift, granting a view of the pavement below. The subsequent opening was large enough for a full grown man to fall through—unfurled—without hitting his head on the way down.

A breeze filtered up through the gaping hole, ruffling Robin's midnight hair like a proud father. Still, he did not awaken.

Slade pressed another switch on his wrist and the manhole that squatted underneath the truck hissed and sparked as it separated from its bolts. It slid smoothly to the side, revealing a black pit. The gentle caress of the morning air putrefied as a toe-curling stench wafted up from the sewers.

Noiseless, Slade pulled a lever on the side of his chair and slowly pushed his seat backward, granting him more room to work. A substantial divide stood between the driver and passenger sides, two to three feet across.

Slithering, Slade crouched to the carpeted floor and crept his way over to Robin. His movements barely registered, his tip-toes were absorbed.

He swatted the passenger seat armrest out of his way, quietly unbuckled the still-sleeping boy, and grabbed a fistful of Robin's uniform. Slade dragged his inert body out of the chair and pulled it toward him until Robin was secure in his arms.

Cradling his catch, Slade scuttled backward like a crab, stopping just before his back hit the bottom of the steering wheel.

He then gently lowered Robin's black-feathered head to the upholstered ground and positioned him in the rift between the seats. His small frame fit easily—his feet an inch from the dashboard and his head half a foot from the back seat borderline. With slow, patient pushes, Slade nudged Robin closer to the ledge, to the maw, and to the unfastened manhole beneath.

Robin awoke to the uncomfortable sensation of blood rushing to his head.

"Huh?" he mumbled in half-asleep surprise.

Swaying in suspended animation, he blinked away the sand from his eyes. Bits of dirt fell past him—over him?—adding to the vertigo.

Once again, the scene had shifted.

His world was upside down; his view was the rusty underbelly of a truck surrounded by a sea of flat asphalt. A faint morning heat tickled his flushed cheeks, accompanied by an increasingly violent—and fetid—draft. Something had him by the legs, but he couldn't see what. His arms swung above of his head, fingers grazing gravel.

"Slade…?"

Without warning, gravity returned with a vengeance.

He fell.

" _Whoa_!" he gasped in terrified surprise.

His limp knuckles clipped the side of the manhole as he tumbled into and through it. His stomach jumped—fell?—into his throat. Bile spilled into his mouth when he jerked to an equally abrupt stop. Nauseous and utterly bewildered, he stared into pungent darkness.

 _Where am I? What's going on?_ he thought.

"Master?" he called weakly.

Above, Slade acted as a pulley—he had tied a rope around Robin's ankles and was slowly lowering his apprentice into the sewers.

Panic rising, Robin flailed like a fish on a hook, desperate to free himself. His confused, strangled yelps rebounded all around him.

Hearing Robin's warbled cries, Slade's eye twinkled with mischievous malice.

A merciful fisherman, he released his catch. A knife flashed and the rope slithered away like a fast-moving serpent across the truck floor and disappeared over the edge, chasing after the wing-clipped bird.

" _AH_!" Robin screeched, falling.

Blind weightlessness consumed him.

He was torn away from the light above and swallowed whole by putrid pitch-black; Robin dropped into the sewers like a wishing-well coin, writhing in mid-air. A horrifying second or two later, he collided roughly with the stained, cobbled brick below.

Gravity was a cruel master.

Pain shot through his body as the crunch of bone welcomed him. His teeth smacked together like clapped lightning, crushing his tongue. His right cheek shredded as it smashed into the stone, painting the ground in spots of red. His already worn body ached with renewed hurt.

Every breath was a lesson in agony.

The calm, rushing waters of the sewer swished next to his head. If he had fallen a few feet to the right, he would have hit the curb that separated the sewage from the tunnel floor. His neck would have snapped on impact.

After a few moments of shock, his lungs contracted, revitalizing, and he wheezed out a haggard cough. Blood filled his mouth. He spat it out in a gasp. He had landed on his side, on his exposed shoulder. New cuts raked across it while the bone beneath throbbed. He didn't _think_ it was broken.

His ribs on the other hand…

The all-too familiar feel of cracked ribs greeted him like an old friend as they jabbed his lungs.

Coupling the new developments with the burn-blisters that littered his chest, the bruises that covered him from head-to-toe, and the lacerations that competed with the contusions for dominance—Robin was truly broken.

He was tired, so tired, of being in pain.

Another round of blood-spattered coughs tore out of him, accompanied by an armada of suffering. Breathing became difficult in his current fetal position so he was forced to roll onto his knees. A tsunami of fatigue almost knocked him back over. His limbs shook as he struggled to remain upright. Air came easier but everything else was exponentially harder.

The manhole cover slid back into place above, shutting off the meager sunlight with a _boom_.

"That looked like it hurt," Slade said from somewhere in the dark, close by.

Robin hadn't even heard him come down. Ripened terror blended together with the wracking pain that consumed his body.

Crimson spittle trickled from his lips. Slade's footsteps crept closer.

The next attack came without warning. Slade's steel-tipped boot plowed into Robin's jaw. His neck whiplashed and one of his teeth was evicted from its root. Air left his lungs and traveled out of his mouth on a grunting wave of gore. A spray of scarlet sprinkled Slade's mask, painting his makeshift brow in Robin's blood. Small drops of red trickled over his lonely eye and down his copper cheek.

The force of Slade's kick flipped Robin onto his back. He landed hard on his spine, vertebrae bruising. His chest crunched like a can, squeezing the oxygen out of him.

He rolled pathetically onto his knees with a wheezing gasp. Slade's soft steps shuffled toward him, unrelenting.

Robin shook his concussed head—side-to-side, side-to-side. His pain threshold was a dot in the rearview mirror.

"No more…" Robin whispered into the dark, his words garbled. "…no more..."

"That's not your decision to make, dear boy," came the cruel reply from above.

The metal plating of Slade's boots glimmered in the corner of Robin's eye. The mere sight of them broke what little pride he had left. Tears rushed to his eyes and spilled over the lip unabated. They were salty and hot on his ruined cheeks.

"M-master… _please_ …" Robin moaned.

Irritated, Slade exhaled profoundly. Such an obvious display of weakness only worsened Slade's mood and proved that his apprentice was far from perfection. Shattered sobs shook Robin's shoulders. Whatever semblance of bravery he possessed dissolved, never to return.

Tasting blood in the water, Slade's hand shot out and reclaimed the weeping boy wonder by the hair. The fury he had bottled up for the entire journey here was wriggling out of its collar. His indigo eye sparkled pitilessly, looking upon Robin with bold disgust.

"No, Robin," he replied matter-of-factly without a hint of remorse. "I won't stop."

Robin uttered a strangled cry as Slade yanked him upward by the roots. His scalp felt like it was ripping, detaching from his head. Robin's arms flailed and he dug his nails into Slade's hand, clawing at the stubborn leather.

Undaunted, Slade turned his knobbed head to the right, dodging Robin's weak attempts at freedom.

Two miles lay between them and the lair.

Slade started walking.

He dragged Robin behind him like unwieldy luggage. Robin's aggrieved gasps turned into shrieks. The pain was blinding, unreal. He felt the pinch and sting of each aborted hair; he left black-feathered breadcrumbs behind him. His feet kicked and flailed, unable to find purchase on the slick, slimy stone.

Supplication died on his lips. He couldn't think, couldn't _exist_ , amidst such horrid anguish. The tears in his uniform opened wide like evil grins. His right sleeve was torn apart, leaving his entire arm vulnerable to the cruel rock beneath.

Scabbed-over wounds shriveled and split as his body slapped against the unforgiving ground. He shed skin like a molting snake.

He was in a never-ending world of hurt, lost to time and coherent thought.

Slade felt Robin go slack in his clutch.

The master clicked his tongue in patronizing _tsk_ s. The sound of it reverberated, enveloping Robin in echoes of mockery.

"Ah-ah-ah," Slade taunted, adding his jeering voice to the resonance. "No sleeping."

Halting suddenly, he released his hold.

Limp, Robin crumpled to the rank, granite ground. His head slammed into the stone—another peal of turmoil amidst a chorus of pain. The brick beneath him soaked up the blood that leaked out of his mouth and nose. He didn't bother moving; flight or fight never crossed his mind. He lay flat on his stomach. His arms and legs were cement blocks.

The coolness of the sewer floor against his throbbing, aching skin was a small relief. All of his energy was focused on keeping his lungs from collapse.

And, at that moment, Robin wished for death. The grim reaper's skeleton grin would have been a more welcome sight than Slade's expressionless mask.

The scythe did not come for him, however. His pain was just beginning.

Slade whirled around and crouched to Robin's level in his typical demeaning way. He enjoyed being up close and personal with his prey; he began to pat Robin's concussed head in a patronizing pet.

The faint glimmer of his façade sparkled in the murky dark.

"Before we continue, I need you to understand something, Robin," Slade remarked, his black-gloved fingers working through the blood-matted tangles of Robin's hair rhythmically. "I'm not hurting you because I _want_ to, but because I _have_ to."

His evil strokes became rakes, digging into Robin's already tender scalp.

"You disobeyed me, apprentice. I told you to attack, and you _talked_. I told you to leave, and you _stayed_. I told you to _end_ that Titan witch once and for all, and you let her lure you into an ambush," Slade hissed, his eye flashing as he listed Robin's shortcomings. "The mission was a complete failure because you couldn't follow the _simplest_ orders. It'll take months—years maybe—to clean up your mess. We may never get another chance…"

Slade stopped petting the bird's smarting head and moved onto his next target: he snagged Robin's limp hand from the ground.

Resting on his battered cheek, Robin's soul-tired eyes followed Slade's movements numbly. His mind was running at a snail's pace; his body disconnected.

"But there's a broader lesson at work here," the villain hinted as he assessed the captured hand. "One that you just don't seem to get."

Slade gave a subtle, approving nod and his fingers locked around Robin's right thumb.

"This may come as a shock to you, Robin," Slade prefaced, his other hand anchoring the boy's wrist. "But you're not as _untouchable_ as you think..."

 _Crack!_

As he spoke, Slade snapped Robin's thumb like a twig; the bones cracked like broken branches.

Robin's gnarled whimper crescendoed into a scream. His feet flailed meagerly as he gave a pathetic tug on Slade's grip. His hand was burning, throbbing, pounding.

 _It hurts, it hurts…_ his brain wept.

Slade freed the useless thumb and traded it in for the neighboring finger.

"I really shouldn't have to explain any of this to you," he censured, indifferent to Robin's writhing. "You _should_ know that everything you do reflects back on me. Your success is _my_ success. Your failure is _my_ failure. It's not your reputation on the line, apprentice—it's _mine_!"

 _Crack!_

Again, Slade splintered his finger. Again, Robin squealed like a stuck pig. Again, he was powerless to stop his master.

Clammy sweat covered his skin in a glittering veil. His neck strained against the unceasing agony. His face collapsed upon itself. Thin, spidery veins pulsated under his skin, thumping unpleasantly. His sight went in and out of clarity. Mindless groans flowed out of him unopposed.

The pain only seemed to grow.

"Please...please...please..." Robin panted frantically.

Two down, three to go—Slade moved onto the middle finger. Robin turned his head away. He couldn't watch. He squeezed his eyes shut and his body turned into tightly-wound stone as he braced himself.

"When will you learn that your actions have consequences?"

 _Crack!_

Robin recoiled, cried out, as yet another bone was broken; however, something in the back of his mind reawakened: a memory.

He had heard that rhetorical question before, but not from Slade.

Life flashing before his eyes, a flood of repressed recollections poured into his pain-numbed brain:

The sight of his parents falling from the circus-tent sky like brightly colored meteors, reducing his childhood to cinders;

Bruce Wayne, the billionaire, enveloping him into a bone-crushing embrace as young Richard wept and wailed over the graves of his parents;

Batman—the monster behind the mask of Wayne—grimacing in rare, unconcealed pain as Robin—the bird who had risen from the ashes of his parents' deaths—turned his back on the man who had raised and trained him, and flew away from the only home he'd ever known.

That last memory haunted him more than he let on or wanted to believe. They had fought; Bruce had been trying to tell him something of import but Richard wouldn't hear him. He was too consumed by anger and resentment to listen.

Robin wanted vengeance on the man who had murdered his parents—to track down and kill the recently paroled mobster, Tony Zucco. Batman, of course, intervened and stopped him before Robin could carry out his murderous act.

* * *

 _The Batcave was quiet for once._

 _The nocturnal rodents that called the secret cavern under Wayne Manor home seemed to understand the need for hushed, uneasy silence. Not one of them squeaked or flapped their membraned wings. Their beady eyes glittered as they watched the confrontation below from their upside-down perches._

 _Richard and Bruce stood facing one another, profiled by the massive computer screen that took up the entire rocky, back wall. It painted the pair in ominous, blue fluorescence._

 _Robin was still in his uniform and appeared to have been within kissing distance of an explosion. His naked, blue eyes sparkled defiantly amidst a backdrop of sooty, charred skin; his mask was nowhere to be seen. The green tights he sported were ripped at the knees and his bright red tunic had a smattering of bullet-sized holes. Cords of lean muscle accented his uncovered forearms and his hair was a lush mess of onyx tendrils spilling over his furrowed forehead._

 _Despite the injuries, he was a picture of health. Beneath the muck, his skin was darkly tanned, his cheeks were currently flushed with color, and he carried himself with an air of spine-straight confidence, bordering on arrogance._

 _Although Bruce was a foot taller than Dick, the young teen made up for his smaller stature with sheer, unrelenting anger. Fury rolled off of him in waves as he glared mutinously, murderously, up at his adopted father._

 _Bruce glowered impressively back._

 _Strong arms crossed against a broad chest, Bruce was the epitome of male beauty—tall, dark, and handsome. With sharp, blue eyes, pitch-black hair, Snow White skin, and a body that would make Michelangelo weep, no one could deny that Bruce Wayne was easily the most beautiful of all Gotham's bachelors. His jawline was as sharp and pronounced as a mountain and his bone structure was equally, and perfectly, rugged. The faint stubble on his cheeks accentuated the flow of his flawless face and not one strand of his impeccably side-parted hair was out of place._

 _The intense glare he wore sharpened his already Spartan features to a knife's point._

 _He no longer wore his Batman cowl or his gloves—they hung over the back of a nearby chair. He was clearly done crime-fighting for the night._

 _Robin, however, was not._

" _I'm going after him, Bruce," Robin snarled, completely unfazed by his injuries. "You can't stop me."_

 _Bruce heaved a worn, tired sigh. He glanced over his shoulder at Alfred the butler, who stood at the foot of the stairs that led back into the mansion. The elderly gentleman's face was a mask of elegant calm and composure, but his worried gaze told a different story as he quietly observed Bruce and Richard's fight._

 _Nevertheless, Bruce seemed to gain strength from the stalwart presence of his closest friend and, when he turned back to frown at Robin, it was clear that he would not be reasoned with. It was a look the boy wonder knew only too well and he growled his displeasure._

 _Before Bruce said a word, Robin knew that this was his last night in Wayne Manor._

" _When will you learn that your actions have consequences, Richard?" Bruce snapped, anger and disappointment clear in his voice. "If you kill Zucco, you take his place as a murderer and become the very person you've hated all your life. And once that line is crossed, there's no coming back. You have no idea where that road leads. And I'd rather see you locked up in Gotham State Penitentiary than find out."_

" _You would lock_ me _up and not_ _Zucco?!" Robin cried, his trust in Bruce shattering. "You would take_ his _side over mine?!_ "

 _Bruce said no more. He simply continued to glare at Richard and let the weight of his judgment speak for itself._

 _The argument was far from over, but the schism was final._

 _The dynamic duo was done._

 _Unable to forgive or forget Zucco—and Batman's apparent betrayal—Robin flew the coop and set up shop on the other side of the country. He couldn't stand to be in the same city as the man who had murdered his parents or the billionaire who had replaced them._

* * *

Now, in the tunnels beneath the city that should have been his fresh start in life, Robin felt a surge of homesickness that had avoided him for two years. He wanted to go home, he wanted to flee to the safety of his childhood, he wanted his father...

...he wanted Bruce.

Semi-conscious, Robin whispered the words he had been too angry and prideful to say since that fateful night when he left Gotham for Jump City:

"I'm sorry dad…"

 _Crack!_


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: I'm terribly sorry for the late update. December was a crazy month! Still, I'm sorry to keep you in suspense! So, without further adieu, enjoy!~ :)**

 **Warning: Language.**

* * *

 _ **"I'm just embarrassed and comfortably numb. But failure is painful and lying is fun...** **Cheers to the fact that we're not dead. Swimming with the sharks, but we're still not dead yet."**_

* * *

" _Ah_!"

In the backseat of the T-Car, Raven hissed and clutched the sides of her head, fighting the new tsunami of emotions pounding against her mind. One moment, Raven had been sporting a mild migraine and the next, pain crashed into her like a battering ram.

But it wasn't her pain.

After weeks of radio silence, Robin had finally let his guard down.

Whether he realized it or not, his mental anguish pulled at her—subconsciously desperate for her presence. Taken off-guard, the Empath barely managed to hold onto the material plane. Shadowy feathers sprouted from her back, forming winged outlines, as she battled Robin's unrelenting magnetism. The whites of her eyes were bordered in sparkling black, seeping closer to the violet center. She could feel her raven soul-avatar cawing and clawing against her control, demanding freedom.

The pain was overwhelming. If the link was any indication, Robin was in a disturbing amount of distress—both mentally and physically. Something had snapped inside him.

Or, more likely, Slade was breaking him.

"Raven!" Beast Boy cried beside her, emerald eyes wide.

He put his paw on her cloak-covered shoulder. Unable to respond, she could only shake her naked head and let out a pathetic groan. She squeezed her obsidian-rimmed eyes shut and clenched her petite fingers into white-knuckled fists on her lap.

Beast Boy turned and slapped the back of the driver's seat.

"Dude, pull over!" he commanded Cyborg sharply before turning his worried gaze back to Raven.

The vibrant green changeling then pried open one of her hands and inserted his own into it, acting as a human stress-ball. Although small in size, her grip was anything but. Her fingers crushed his and he stifled a surprised, unmanly squeal.

The screech of tires, the sharp sway of the car, and Beast Boy's hand in hers helped keep her grounded in material reality. With each passing second, she could feel her will crystallizing, sharpening the divide between her and Robin.

" _Azarath_ …" she chanted through gritted teeth. "… _Metrion_ … _Zinthos_ …"

A shrill honk pierced the air behind her as the T-car swerved and parked gracelessly on the side of a busy intersection.

Flashes of images flew across her mind as she concentrated: dark tunnels, Slade's mask, a disfigured hand, drops of blood on wet stones, and…

" _Batman_?"

* * *

"I'm sorry dad…" Robin whispered just as Slade shattered his ring finger.

His dazed apology ended in a bestial cry. Purified agony shot through his hand, drawing all attention. His spine arched and he ground his teeth together. Any attempt at yanking his hand out of Slade's unrelenting grasp only resulted in more misery.

His time with Slade had certainly built his endurance; the daily woes of his apprenticeship had taught him how to withstand an enormous amount of pain. Unfortunately, this helpful training was backfiring on him now. With each horrible pulse of anguish radiating from his fingers, he prayed for unconsciousness.

It did not come.

The edges of his vision were blurred and blackened, but the darkness never encroached further than that. His newfound durability kept him cognizant.

A steady stream of whimpers crept out of his bloodied mouth, a mix of garbled words and strangled gasps.

Unimpressed, Slade flicked away the now-useless ring finger and set his sights on the last digit.

He pinched the knuckle of Robin's pinkie.

The boy's hand was quivering, trembling, as he awaited the inevitable _crack!_ The tremors worked their way up his arm and spread throughout his entire frame. The four other fingers on his left hand were grotesquely bent and swollen. His sweaty face was turned away as he lay flat on his belly, unable to bear the sight.

His shoulders were rising and falling rapidly as he attempted—and failed—to breathe through the pain.

An endless well of tears flooded out of him. They spilled out of the corner of his eyes, spirited across his temple, bled into his shaved hairline, and hit the cobbled ground beneath his prostrate head with faint taps. He couldn't stop crying.

He was a defective apprentice.

Slade narrowed his eye and his forearm muscles flexed, ready to break the last of Robin's fingers.

"And this little piggy…" he hummed heartlessly, squeezing the pinkie. "…went _all_ the way home."

 _Crack!_

Like a child throwing a tantrum, Robin kicked his feet and cried out. The scuff of his boots echoed along with his groan. He twisted his head around and smashed his forehead into the sewer floor. His lip was curled like a snarling wolf, his eyes were welded shut, and his brow was collapsed, carved, as it fought the adversarial pain.

His nostrils flared and he tried to shift his attention to the cool, slimy ground beneath his head, counting the slick drops of perspiration and pebbles of loose gravel. It was a losing battle. The broken, little bones of his hand had Napoleon complexes and the putrid stench of the sewers muddled his concentration.

Ropes of bulging veins protruded from the side of his coiled, collared neck—raised blue branches spreading up into his stony jaw. His breath came out in sporadic snorts and growling wheezes.

Slade's eye flashed with obvious pleasure.

Robin's hand was a pile of gnarled, lank meat in Slade's calm grasp. The swelling had already begun; the skin was turning shades of sickly red and purple. Blotches of deep indigo colored his grotesquely twisted knuckles.

Even amidst the cacophony of agony, Robin had the awareness to tuck his other hand underneath his belly-flopped body. Perhaps if it was out of sight, it would be out of Slade's mind.

"Now," his master announced after a long moment. "What have we learned today?"

Mind reeling, Robin spat the first words that crawled up his windpipe.

"Actions have…" he sucked in a breath. "…consequences."

With feathery lightness, Slade twisted Robin's captured, broken pinkie and watched as the boy wonder squirmed in unabashed discomfort on the tunnel floor.

"Go on," Slade encouraged pleasantly.

Robin's teeth flashed in the dark as he ground them together, lips pulled back. It was a cruel irony that the littlest finger was causing such enormous pain and rendering him all but helpless.

"Never…disobey a… _direct order_!" the teenager barked at the grimy ground.

Slade made no further sound, nor did he release his painful hold. Robin bit his cheek to keep from whimpering further. His battered face was strained, screwed, as he endured Slade's slow and wicked retribution.

"This conversation is far from over, young man."

With that vague threat, Slade released his grip anticlimactically, letting Robin's arm drop.

Robin cried out in surprise as his mutilated hand crashed into the cold, wet stones. He couldn't even sense the positioning of his fingers; his hand was just one, great symphony of pain. It stung and throbbed and pulsated incessantly.

As quickly as he could manage, Robin rolled onto his side and immediately cradled his mangled hand against his stomach. His fingers looked as if they had been chewed up and spit back out—perverted, distorted, bent horrifically. The tips of his fingers pointed in opposite directions like bendy straws.

Even worse, as blood rushed back into his hand, it began to throb and pound with pregnant hurt. The pain spread like a wildfire, rippling up his arm.

"Before we head back home," Slade transitioned tactlessly, nodding at the bloodied Robin with a cold jerk of his makeshift chin. "Be a dear and fill me in as to what happened after we broke off contact. Watching the rest of your performance through the security camera feed was _inadequate_ to say the least. It's a shame the military has yet to discover the benefits of audio for their surveillance systems..."

Although mildly worded, the request was anything but. His tone was sharp, a notch below a fanged hiss.

Slade had never really left Robin. Their short time apart was a state of mind. Ironically, the villain seemed to have eyes everywhere.

Robin swallowed thickly, buying time as he formed his words. Any slip of his tongue could mean another ruined hand. He tried to meet Slade's eye but the man's stare was too intense and he quickly dropped his gaze.

"When the, er, earpiece… _fell out_ …" he said with a cracked voice, shifting uncomfortably as he lay on his side.

His cracked ribs bit at him. His mouth and throat were parched. Bits of gravel were stuck to his bloodied cheeks, packing his gashes with tainted dirt. There didn't seem to be an inch of skin on him that didn't sting. He took another quick, mildly dazed, peek at Slade, wondering how to phrase his explanation.

Crouched on his toes and elbows on his knees, Slade's dangling black-gloved hands curled into tight fists. His indigo eye—almost imperceptible in the darkness of the tunnel—sparkled with malice, pinning Robin beneath an invisible weight.

Robin coughed and the movement sent a stinging spike through his chest, his hand, his body. He winced, flinched, and became distracted by the pain.

"Yes?" Slade prodded, his tone clipped.

Robin bit his lip and tried to focus on speaking coherently. It was easier said than done.

"I-I don't remember much after that," he stammered noncommittally. "But when I woke up, I was in a room. They had me chained to a chair and, uh…"

Robin's words trailed off as he wondered just how much Slade knew about his brief interrogation. What had he seen?

Slade's eye flashed again and he shifted forward on his toes. Robin leaned away instinctively and was rebuked severely for it. His hand caught fire again. He gasped and stiffened as still as he could.

" _Spit it out!_ "

The temperature seemed to drop as Slade's anger boiled. His voice was a wisp—a biting, snapping wind. Gooseflesh prickled all along Robin's skin. A shiver threatened. His naked, fearful eyes darted upward and were instantly caught in the web of Slade's glare.

"They interrogated me."

The words flew out of him on their own accord—traitors.

As expected, Slade's interest was piqued. This was the crux of the matter. He had, of course, watched Robin's discourse with the Titans, but had heard nothing.

In the blink of an eye, he had Robin by the collar of his shirt. He threw the boy wonder against the tunnel wall and pinned him there. Surprised, Robin yelped, but he managed to cradle his mangled hand well enough against his belly, saving it from being squashed. His ribs, unfortunately, took the brunt of it. He wheezed and gasped as they dug into his lungs.

" _What did you tell them_?"

His master was an inch from his face. His black-blue eye was wild, glinting like chaotic lightning.

"N-nothing!" Robin swore, trembling.

Slade's eye narrowed. He was unconvinced.

"I didn't say anything!" Robin exclaimed with a pleading expression. "I swear! Raven offered to help me if I gave you up but I told her to fuck off! I would _never_ betray you, master. You have to believe me!"

"And what about the alien?" Slade hissed and his hands jammed Robin harder into the slimy brick. "With her, you didn't seem nearly as _hostile_."

Realization hit Robin and he kicked himself for being so completely foolish. He had forgotten about Starfire. Of course Slade would read their exchange in the interrogation room with suspicion!

"I didn't say _anything_ ," he repeated huskily. "She was just a piece of tail playing good cop."

"From what I saw, she was rather effective," Slade countered.

Speaking with more confidence than he felt—and desperate to avoid more pain—Robin snapped:

"She's not the only one that can put on a show."

Slade barked a rare laugh. The rage in his eye dimmed ever so slightly. He did enjoy the sick irony of it all.

The pressure on Robin noticeably lessened as Slade pulled back an inch.

"Maybe," Slade conceded with a small, hidden smirk. "But theatrics don't explain how you managed to escape."

Robin bit his lip. This part of the story remained a mystery, even to him. He shook his head and gave a one-armed shrug.

"After Star—the _alien_ left," he explained, his mind racing. "The chains just…came off."

Even as the words spluttered out of him, Robin knew how insane and idiotic it all sounded. He should have lied. At least then he could have had a chance of evading another round of his master's ferocious displeasure.

Indeed, the savage spark was back in Slade's eye. His fingers twitched against Robin's shoulders, curling as they readied themselves to strangle.

"Chains don't just _come off_ , apprentice _._ Come now, tell me the truth. I wouldn't want to have to break your other hand."

"I'm telling the truth!" Robin cried. "They just…they just _fell off_! I don't know how it happened!"

"You're lying, Robin," Slade said with a singsong sneer.

"I'm not! _I swear I'm not_!"

Slade leaned forward.

"If you thi—" he began to threaten, but his words caught off as he caught sight of something.

His lonely eye swiveled sharply to the right of Robin's head.

A faint, barely perceptible, red dot illuminated the stone behind the boy's ear. It was the width of a thumbnail and blurred by intense shadow. Slade only noticed it because he had just been about to smash Robin's skull against the wall.

Slowly, he reached out and pressed his fingers to the base of Robin's neck and head, probing for the source of the feeble light. Robin's nervous eyes followed him, transfixed, and he winced when Slade hit upon the tender nerves of his bruised skull.

Then, a small prick of pain stabbed the nape of his neck like a particularly bad mosquito bite.

Slade's arm whipped back and his hand was no longer empty.

Clutched between his index finger and thumb was a tiny, metallic circle ringed with infinitesimal spikes. A speck of red illuminated its black surface, glowing like a new moon.

Robin's glacial-blue eyes went wide in recognition.

Slade gave a low, spine-warping chuckle.

"So, the Titans want to _play_."


	29. Chapter 29

_**"If I had a heart I could love you. If I had a voice I would sing. After the night when I wake up, I'll see what tomorrow brings."**_

* * *

The Titans sat in worried silence.

Raven still held her head in her hands, leaning forward on her knees in the backseat of the T-Car. Beast Boy rubbed her hunched back steadily and whispered encouragements in her ear. One of his green hands was tangled up with hers. He had long since lost feeling in it.

Indeed, she had squeezed—and was still squeezing—it so tightly that the emerald color of his skin was turning a disturbing shade of chartreuse. He made no complaint. His attention was focused intently on Raven's face.

The young Empath was through the worst of Robin's magnetic distress and the boy wonder's mind was closing itself off again; however, Raven wasn't ready to let go of him just yet. She had to be sure. _They_ had to be sure.

It wouldn't be long before the master and apprentice realized what the Titans had done. The tracker she had planted in the haired nape of Robin's neck was a good hiding spot, but Slade was no amateur. What if he found it before the Titans could pinpoint his location? What if he had already disposed of it? What if the hunted had become the hunter?

A small, audiovisual display sat unassumingly on the dashboard of the T-Car. It whirred softly and portrayed two red dots on a gray grid. The dots were a couple inches apart, but one of them was moving ever so slightly to the right and blinked intermittently.

Robin was on the move.

Cyborg frowned and he turned his mismatched stare to the backseat. His countenance was serious, grim.

"We gotta keep movin'," he said to Beast Boy.

The jade-colored changeling flicked his eyes in Cyborg's direction.

"Just a few more seconds," Beast Boy requested solemnly.

Cyborg's grimace deepened. He inhaled deeply, readying himself for a fight.

"In a few more seconds we could lose Robin's signal," he grunted.

Beast Boy turned and glared at his best friend. The sharpened tooth that peeked out from underneath his lip sparkled in the burgeoning daylight. Starfire watched the primordial argument with wide, yet steady eyes. Her presence was unusually muted.

Beast Boy jerked his chin in Raven's direction.

"She's not—" he began to complain.

"I'm fine."

All three of the Titans twisted in Raven's direction.

Her delicate, pale chin was lifted in determination even though her head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Her violet eyes were clear and held no trace of magical black. Her pallid complexion was positively pasty, sickly. The imprint of Robin's enormous pain still echoed through her bones, but it was finally fading.

She was horribly tired and her body whined, wanting a nap, but her mind was resolute. She had stayed in Robin's head long enough to know that the tracker had not been destroyed or discarded. She also knew that Slade was beating Robin within an inch of his life in a place that looked an awful lot like a sewer tunnel.

This information gave her an edge of confidence. The Titans were close to Robin's position. It wouldn't be long before they found him or, at least, evidence of his presence. A footprint would be a welcome sight. Even if Slade found the tracker now, the team would still have a _lead_ —something that had eluded them for months.

 _We're coming, Robin. Hold on._ Raven thought with a worn smirk.

She quickly explained her findings to the team, speaking with an impatience she had not felt in memory. Afterward, when none of the Titans moved, Raven raised a cool, lavender brow at them.

"What are you waiting for?" she snapped in her typical monotone fashion and then waved her free hand in the direction of the road. "C'mon, let's go!"

Acting as if he had just been electrocuted, Cyborg jumped back around and yanked the car into drive. The tires shrieked as he swerved into traffic and began the tracking anew. The second red dot on the dashboard screen started to blink along with its counterpart.

Hybrids, buses, and taxis were multi-colored blurs in her window as Cyborg glided around them gracefully. Beast Boy's paw was still tucked away in the prison of her pale fingers. She turned her heart-shaped face toward the window to hide the faint blush that began to blossom on her cheeks. When she began to pull her hand away from his, he refused to let go.

Her blush deepened but she didn't fight him. Selfish creature that she was, she couldn't muster up the irritation necessary to push him away. She had already lost one friend. She couldn't bear to endanger another.

So, instead, she pulled her hood up, positioned it into its familiar place, and allowed herself to be weak just this one time.

Hand-in-hand, Beast Boy and Raven looked toward the windshield horizon.

The chase was on.

* * *

The T-Car pulled smoothly into an almost vacant parking lot. The sound of the ocean filtered through Raven's open window along with the distinct scents of salt, industry, and garbage. This part of the wharf, despite its coveted location, was not well known for its beauty.

A massive truck was the only inhabitant in the dull parking lot. The word 'truck' couldn't really describe it, however. It was more of an elegantly designed tank than a simple car. If Raven stood beside it, the tires would be taller than her easily.

It was not inconspicuous, but it _was_ well hidden.

No one came to this part of the city. Not even criminals. What had once been a thriving port had disintegrated into a ghost town. The cries of annoyed seagulls, the faraway _whooshes_ of the nearby ocean, and the faint rumbles of the T-Car disrupted the would-be dead silent atmosphere.

Wary of the monstrous truck, Cyborg pulled into a space a few spaces away from it. The engine died without a whimper and Cyborg turned his dark brown eye to the dashboard GPS.

The two red dots had gotten closer. They were not even half an inch apart. If Robin still had the tracker on him, he would have been about a mile northwest from the Titans' current location. What's more, his position had stalled; he wasn't on the move any longer. Cyborg's intense gaze flicked from the screen to the world outside the windshield, calculating.

Beast Boy, Raven, and Starfire peeked eagerly from the backseat, waiting for a verdict.

"Hm…" Cyborg hummed with a look of puzzlement on his split face.

"What is it, friend?" Starfire wondered, her fingers curling eagerly around driver's side shoulder.

Cyborg leaned back and sighed.

"If this is sayin' what I think it's sayin'," he said, tapping the GPS. "Then Robin should be chillin' on the beach right now."

Beast Boy groaned and flung the back of his head against his seat melodramatically.

"Oh _c'mon_!" he complained. "He ditched the tracker?!"

Instead of answering the bemused changeling, Cyborg, Raven, and Starfire took to studying the parking lot with furrowed brows and shrewd expressions. There was an unspoken conversation ping-ponging between them.

Left in the dark, Beast Boy's gaze swiveled back and forth, trying to uncover the secret that his friends seemed to already know. His emerald eyebrows disappeared into his hairline when no one offered to clue him in. His countenance was cutely confused.

"Hello? Guys?" he yelped.

"I do not think that is the answer," Starfire finally said in a dreamy voice.

She twisted her door handle and floated abruptly out of the car. Beast Boy perked up, cocking his head like a baffled puppy at her departure. A stern breeze riffled through the open door and rustled his disheveled green locks.

"Where's she goin'?" he squeaked, jerking a thumb.

Not speaking, Cyborg and Raven followed the alien's lead and began unbuckling their seatbelts. When Beast Boy didn't move, Cyborg grinned and threw the changeling a superior look over his mechanical shoulder.

"Better hurry up, BB!" he taunted, flashing perfect white teeth. "Or we're gonna leave you behind."

Beast Boy's perplexed expression darkened. His lip pulled down in a severe pout and he crossed his arms defensively.

"Isn't anyone gonna tell me what's goin' on?!" he squeaked, glaring mutinously at Cyborg.

Adjusting her hood, Raven sighed profoundly from beneath her violet cowl.

"Slade didn't find the tracker and Robin isn't on the beach," she informed Beast Boy in a mildly annoyed tone.

"Then why did the—?"

"Because he's _underground_."

* * *

"Oh, man! It _reeks_ down here!"

Beast Boy's shrill complaint ricocheted off the sewer tunnel walls, echoing for miles. The other three Titans stiffened beside him at the sudden burst of overt noise and did not relax until Beast Boy's reverberating squeal settled back into eerie silence.

"Nice acoustics…" Cyborg muttered absentmindedly under his breath.

"The smell _is_ most unpleasant," Starfire conceded, pinching her petite nose.

Clenching her fists underneath her cloak to keep from smacking Beast Boy upside the head, Raven rounded on the unhappy changeling. The light from the open manhole trickled down from above, casting her infuriated glare in deep shadow.

" _Quiet!_ " Raven snapped in a terse whisper. "Are you _trying_ to tip Slade off?"

"Heh. Whoops," Beast Boy apologized softly with a sheepish shrug and smile. "Sorry."

Exasperated, Raven rolled her eyes, shook her hooded head, and marched over to where Cyborg stood. His back was turned to the rest of the team and his quizzical stare was fixed on his robotic wrist. The GPS from the T-Car had been downloaded into his system and was imprinted on his right forearm. The blue-tinted screen there glowed gently in the rancid dark.

"My scanners are picking up a fresh heat signature," Cyborg said softly at her approach. _"Someone's_ been down here."

"Lead the way," Raven replied with a nod.

Cyborg lowered his arm and a flashlight popped out of his shoulder cavity, revealing the way forward. The exposed rats that had been watching the Titans from the safe cover of darkness squeaked crossly at the sudden disturbance and scurried off.

Unseen droplets plinked and plopped from above, occasionally smacking the tops of the Titans' heads. A steady stream of sewer water trickled serenely beside them. It was three feet deep and took up most of the cramped space. Luckily, there was a slim cobblestoned walkway that was wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder. Rusted, sentinel ladders decorated the brick wall on their left. Many of them had missing rungs.

Although Cyborg's flashlight greatly abated much of the fear associated with walking in a pitch-black sewer, there was still a sense of heavy dread permeating through the fetid air. A stomach-twisting presence pressed against their minds and rested weightly on their shoulders.

Something, or someone, was watching them.

"This way," Cyborg said in a hushed voice. "But stay on your toes, y'all. I don't like the feel of this place."

"Nor do I," Starfire agreed with a shiver.

"Definitely creepy," Beast Boy mumbled.

His verdant eyes flicked side-to-side, top-to-bottom, as they searched for an invisible enemy.

"Let's go," Raven pressed and began walking forward.

Her ashen expression was as hard as marble. Her unwavering violet glare held no fear or, at least, hid it well. Black magic crackled on her twitching fingertips. The others followed her lead with Cyborg lumbering next to her, Starfire floating behind them, and Beast Boy trotting on Raven's other side as a perceptive cat.

Cyborg's guiding light surrounded them in a small cocoon of radiance. Its radius was not as large as they would have liked it, but it kept them from tripping over themselves. The further they traveled, the more crowded the tunnels became. Critters of all sorts were common occurrences, dancing around their feet. The cat Beast Boy hissed intermittently to keep the more aggressive rats and reptiles away.

It grew colder. The darkness circled around them, waiting to pounce. Starfire rubbed her bare upper arms.

About five minutes into their journey, Raven's eye caught something.

"Wait," she ordered suddenly.

Shoving her hood back, she crossed over to the curved wall and crouched to the tainted ground. Cyborg raised a silent eyebrow, but when he followed her stare, he soon joined her on the tunnel floor. His redwood iris sparkled with emotion. Beast Boy pattered over and gave a startled yowl. Starfire landed lightly on her feet and peeked over Raven's shoulder.

Three baseball-sized pools of blood were splattered on the grimy stone, creeping up the black-lunged wall.

Understanding bolted across Starfire's face like a flash of lightning. She put a hand to her mouth to keep herself from whimpering. A crystalline tear trickled down her tanned cheek as she gawked at the blood stains in horror.

With eyes like moons and his feline pupils fully dilated in total eclipses, Beast Boy wandered numbly over to Starfire and brushed up against her leg. His ears were flat against his olive head and his flicking tail swayed sadly.

Raven's hand shook as she reached out from beneath her cloak. Her quivering fingers hovered over the crimson splotches in dazed intrigue.

Drops of blood on wet stones, her vision was confirmed.

"Robin was here," she whispered.

With a sigh, Cyborg stood and turned his split face toward the bleak horizon. The flashlight moved with him, shrouding Raven in black and cutting off her view of Robin's blood. That somehow made it worse and she retracted her hand.

"We'd better get a move on," Cyborg said with an accent of courage. "C'mon. Robin needs us."

With a melancholy sigh of her own, Raven pulled her hood back over her face.

She was going to find the truth. She was going to find Robin. And, if she had the chance, she was going to _end_ Slade.

The Demon within her grinned.

* * *

The haunt was quiet. Not even the ghosts in Robin's head whispered.

In the center of the deserted atrium, Robin laid on his good side, waiting. His destroyed hand was cradled against his stomach. His eyelids were heavy, cutting his sight in half. He was enveloped in layers of multi-varied pain. He clung to consciousness by the skin of his teeth. His breath was shallow. His snowy stare was vacant. His beat-up knees were tucked against his chest.

 _Any moment now,_ he thought distantly.

A set stage, a single spotlight shone down upon him. His left ankle was shackled with a heavy chain, bolting him to the concrete. Speckles of blood ringed around him like posies. His one bare arm was a mosaic of bruises and cuts. The story was the same everywhere else.

He was a prime cut of meat. He wagered not even Bruce could resist Slade's bait.

The numb apathy that had been his constant companion was taking control. His death-bed heart was calcifying, petrifying, into stone. He was embalming himself.

Everything he had done, the people he had killed, the crimes he had committed—it was all for nothing. The fears he told himself would never come to fruition were right in front of his face. The storm he had dreaded for so long was here. The enemy was at the gates.

The game was over. He had lost.

Slade was going to fulfill the promise he had made to Robin all those weeks ago:

" _I'm going to make you kill your friends, Robin."_


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Again, sorry for the lateness. I wrestled with this chapter and I hope I struck the right tone. Enjoy. :)**

* * *

 _ **"I'd send the pain below, much like suffocating."**_

* * *

Red on red, the two dots on the GPS began to eclipse one another. Robin should have been right in front of them. Instead, the four flamboyant teens stared a dead-end in the face.

A wall of sewage-tainted brick mocked them.

Faith shaken, Cyborg checked and re-checked the screen on his wrist.

"This…this _can't_ be right!" he exclaimed under his breath, baffled.

Clearly frustrated, he began to tinker with his robotic appendage. The mechanical components of his arm whirred gently as they shifted and stirred.

Eager to help, Beast Boy traded in his intimidating cat claws for a rat's superior nose. He sniffed the ground eagerly, trying to pick up a helpful scent. Alongside Beast Boy, Starfire poked and prodded the wall as if it held some hidden secret. She gingerly ran her long fingers across the disgusting brick.

"Perhaps there is a way around this obstruction?" she suggested.

Cyborg shook his head. His dark brow furrowed. His expression became suspicious.

"That's the weird part," he explained. "It shouldn't even _be_ here. This tunnel should go all the way to the ocean. Something's not addin' up."

Centering herself, Raven stepped forward and placed her small hand on the brick beside Starfire's. She ignored the pungent, sticky moisture that clung protectively to the stone. Inhaling and exhaling profoundly, she closed her wintry eyes and called upon her magic.

"Azarath…Metrion…Zinthos…" she chanted in a sigh.

An electric current of iridescent black bounded down her arm and disappeared into the wall. It sent out a radar signal, attempting to find anything of interest in the immediate vicinity. What it found was surprising.

The wall was not really a wall at all.

It was a door.

* * *

Blearily, Robin watched with jaded eyes as the western wall of the haunt blew apart. The day-dreamed sight he had waited so long to see was becoming reality: his friends raiding Slade's lair, coming to rescue him from the hellish prison that had been his home for months.

And he couldn't be more miserable.

Pieces of smoldering rock soared through the air. Sundered pebbles cascaded to the cement ground in a heavy rain. A trickle of intense, unusual, heat rustled Robin's lank hair and kissed his icy skin. A wispy fog of acrid smoke hid his friends from view. Waves of warm dust settled upon the floor like new snow. Pipes, rails, and part of a catwalk that were attached to the unfortunate wall were dislocated. Their iron limbs swung limply, waving sad goodbyes.

Despite the fantastic blast, the haunt was still swamped in shadow save the pillar of fluorescence that hung above Robin. The flying Grayson was going to lose his new family the same way he had lost his last one—under a spotlight.

Even in the midst of the floor-shaking explosion, he remained as silent and still as possible.

The smoke dissipated. The Teen Titans were revealed in all their foolish glory—blue, green, yellow, and purple. Together, they dashed into the place that would be their undoing.

 _"Remember, apprentice, bait doesn't speak,"_ came Slade's quiet, callous warning in his ear.

His former friends found him easily. Out in the open as he was, he would be hard to miss and even harder to resist. He knew how pathetic he looked: clothes torn, skin shredded, stripped of his mask, his dignity, and hooked to an intimidating chain.

Centered in a circle of light, Slade had positioned him just right—a perfect damsel in distress.

The Titans didn't stand a chance.

Starfire spotted him first. Her vibrant, verdant eyes landed on him like an anvil. Pinned, his heart began to race despite the tragic moment.

"Robin!" she cried, and dashed forward.

She was at his side in less than a second. Time, which had seemed so slow and nonexistent down here, came back with a vengeance.

"Oh, Robin…" Starfire whispered as she took in his wretched state.

Dropping to her knees, Starfire made quick work of the pesky chain. The uncomfortable weight on his ankle vanished; the twinkling jangle of metal hitting stone chimed. She rested a tentative and gentle hand on his bare shoulder, shaking him slightly. The heat of her touch made him flinch.

Mildly reanimated, his heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes swerved in her direction, but he said nothing. Starfire supposed he was in too much pain to speak, to move. She wasn't wrong...

...but she wasn't right either.

A radiant blob of purple and red, Starfire leaned closer and placed her other tan hand on the side of his bloody face. A trill of inexplicable pleasure shot up his spine and he instinctively pressed his selfish cheek into her palm. Her familiar, heady scent made him dizzy—well, _dizzier_. So much so that his vision began to go out of focus and he had to close his eyes to keep the vertigo away.

Mistaking it for something more serious, Starfire's grip on his arm tightened. The strength of it caused his shoulder to throb. Finger-shaped bruises were added to his injurious collection. But it was worth it, just to have her near. Even if it was only for a moment.

"Robin, can you hear me?!" Starfire called under her breath. "Can you move? I know you are in great pain, but we _must_ leave this place!"

Robin pitied her then. Had she honestly believed it would be so easy? That the chains or his tortured state were the only obstacles keeping him here? That Slade would just let him leave? That blowing a hole in the wall would be the end of it?

When he still didn't respond to her pleas, Starfire took matters into her own hands—literally. She curled her arms around him and scooped Robin up.

The sudden movement ignited his body in new flames of pain and the groan he elicited when she tore him from the floor was no act. His glazed eyes snapped wide.

Her strength was good for battle, but not for bedside manner. Her long, scarlet hair brushed against his mangled hand. He jerked it away and was met with a lightning bolt of agony. He ripped his lip into shreds trying to keep still and silent.

Starfire didn't seem to notice his brief spasm. Her head was turned as she looked over her bare shoulder.

The faint, wary steps of the other three Titans clicked in the background, inching closer.

Cyborg's sonic-cannon was unsheathed and buzzed with blue energy. Beast Boy had already shape-shifted into a sleek panther. His razor-sharp claws tapped softly against the cement. Raven's pale fingers crackled with electric black, ready to strike.

All of their eyes flicked from side to side, searching for the inevitable enemy in the dark.

"C'mon, Star," Cyborg whispered, not taking his eye off the encroaching shadows. "Let's _go_."

Starfire spun around. Again, her strength took Robin off guard. The force of her sudden speed and equally abrupt stop caused his ruined hand to ricochet off his stomach. His teeth dug deeper into his lip, drawing blood, but he couldn't keep his cry of hurt down. It bubbled out of him on its own volition.

Alerted, Starfire snapped her head in his direction.

When she saw his grotesque hand, her eyes widened in horror and she cried:

"Friends! His hand!"

The lights switched on.

The sudden brightness hurt Robin's eyes and he buried his head trying to escape it. Rock shifted and metal squealed. A barrage of _thumps_ collided with the ground and a parade of footsteps approached.

Robin could hear the Titans' feet shifting as they readied themselves. Starfire's grip tightened protectively. Her alien heart began to hammer against him.

He did not need to see to know what had happened. Everything was going according to plan.

The impressive hole that the Titans had created was re-covered by a layer of steel and stone.

Hundreds of Slade's automaton lackeys had dropped from the overhead rafters. The Titans were quickly surrounded.

Pupil-less, glowing white eyes were locked unnervingly on the five teenagers. The robots' shoulders were hunched in mechanical servitude. Their lifeless arms swayed stiffly as they moved into position. Blasters hung from their bolted-on belts. Their faces were hollow reflections of their master—metal facades painted orange and black in overlapping circles. They had no mouths. No expression. No voices.

They formed a tight ring around the Titans, pressing closer.

 _What are you doing?!_ Robin thought to his former team. _RUN, YOU MORONS!_

But it was too late.

"Ah, the Teen Titans. I was wondering when you would show up."

Slade's unmistakable voice slithered through the air. It wound around Robin's stomach and squeezed. He felt sick. He had played his part and the curtains were calling.

The master himself appeared a moment later, emerging from the pitch black of an adjacent tunnel like the snake he was. All of the Titans simultaneously glared, oblivious to their precarious situation.

Beast Boy's feline lip curled in a snarl of utter hate. Cyborg aimed his cannon at Slade's split mask. Raven's witch hands curled into telling fists.

Starfire's eyes began to glow bright green, twin suns of emerald.

Slade met their obvious disgust with cool calculation. He strode smoothly forward in the calm before the storm. His mechanical men ambled out of his way and let him into the crowded circle before re-closing ranks. The villain's black-gloved hands were clasped behind him. His boots clapped the ground and the sound echoed like unnerving thunder in the pregnant silence.

His friendless eye flashed.

"That doesn't belong to you," he said with a nod in Robin's direction.

The hackles on Beast Boy's hairy back stood at attention. He growled menacingly, baring pointed fangs. Raven's stony glower deepened and her magic crept up her arms in warning. Her shadow grew horns. Cyborg's weaponized arm glowed and whirred impatiently.

"You…you _clorbag vorblernelk!_ Come no further!" Starfire shouted at Slade, her beautiful face twisted in rage. "Robin is our _friend_! HE WILL _NEVER_ BELONG TO YOU!"

Slade remained characteristically unfazed. He continued his calm walk forward, closing the distance between him and his temporarily stolen property.

"How touching," he responded mildly with a chuckle. "But my apprentice doesn't _need_ any friends."

"We are not leaving here without Robin!" Starfire yelled defiantly, spitting sparks.

"Dear child, you misunderstand," Slade said in his most patronizing voice. "You're not leaving here _at all_."


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: As always, enjoy. :)**

* * *

 _ _ **"Has he lost his mind? Can he see or is he blind? Can he walk at all? Or if he moves will he fall? Is he alive or dead? Has he thoughts within his head?"**__

* * *

Starfire's incensed, alien curse was cut off by the sudden rush of Slade's automatons. The brightly clad Titans were soon drowned in a swarm of copper and black. Metallic fists smacked into Starfire's back, knocking Robin out of her arms.

He hit the ground, landing on his destroyed hand. His scream of agony was engulfed by the desperate sounds of war. Flashes of green and blue lit up the haunt like fireworks. Black robotic limbs flew through the air, sparking and sizzling.

A perpetual chorus of growls, squeals, roars, and hisses sang as Beast Boy shifted from creature to creature. He maimed and gored and smashed with all the fury of the animal kingdom.

The crescendo of Raven's familiar chant filtered through the chaos every so often. Her sing-song mantra was followed by the percussion of disassembled automatons slamming into the ground—slashed neatly in half.

Starfire's warrior cries accompanied bright flares of green that colored the drab gray surroundings in hues of blazing emerald. She left no evidence of her attackers. Hot snowflakes of ash cascaded to the floor.

Likewise, Cyborg was attacking anything in his path—whether it be robot, décor, or otherwise. His sonic cannon shook the ground and disturbed the ever-growing piles of rubble. The pipes and rafters trembled and sometimes fell from the ceiling like fallen angels. Dozens of smoldering craters already pocketed the cement environment. The wall of audiovisual monitors sprouted cracks and shed bits of glass.

The screams of Slade's robots were an awful thing to behold. Their dying, warbled shrieks pierced the eardrums and rattled the skull. Steely heads rolled; short-circuiting appendages littered the floor. Robin became buried in mechanical gore.

But the automatons just kept coming. An endless supply of soldiers parachuted from the dark recesses of the haunt and stormed out of the tunnels. The Titans were easily outnumbered 10-1. The atrium, which had always seemed so vast and desolate, now felt crowded.

Robin went into shock.

The horrible pain in his hand went disturbingly numb. His skin tingled while his muscles coiled into knots. His brain overheated. There was too much happening at once. Everything around him and inside him was chaos.

Robotic carcasses collapsed upon him, harsh footsteps trampled his legs, gunfire grazed his head, and yet he didn't react; convulsing wires were tangled in his hair, biting and burning the shaved sides of his scalp, but he couldn't feel their electric sting.

 _MOVE!_ he yelled at his body, all to no avail.

It had been years since he had felt so helpless, so weak.

Curled into a protective ball and cradling his gnarled hand, he watched the spectacular scene with wide, unseeing eyes. He felt faraway—out of his body, out of his mind.

His master was nowhere in sight.

The Titans were giving everything they had and still it wasn't enough. Slade's army was a pulsating mass of teeming insects—a never-ending supply of soldiers that spilled over them in waves. The haunt's coffers had been emptied; Slade went all-in.

Smoking heat suffocated the room, draping it in a lung-crunching fog of war.

While the Titans had the fight of their lives, Robin struggled to wiggle his toes. Jilted lovers, his body and mind refused to speak to one another. So, when an airborne Starfire unleashed a torrent of deadly green starbolts on her enemies below, Robin couldn't so much as flinch out of the way.

"ROBIN! NO!"

The frantic shriek came from behind.

Its familiar, feminine tenor was laced with an accent of mysterious power that rippled through the war-torn atmosphere. One moment, Robin was staring in dazed wonder at the lethal starbolt barreling toward him, and the next he was floating ten feet off the ground—an invisible hand holding him aloft.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he was back on the floor, splayed on his stomach, and twenty feet away from where he had been. His view was now that of the western tunnel's shadowy maw. The scene was still anarchy, but he had been removed from the nucleus of it.

Raven's rescue effort had cost her.

The moment she removed Robin from danger, she took a bullet to her undefended shoulder. Granted, the unfortunate robot that had fired the shot got the worst of it. She immediately disposed of him with a flick of her good arm and he joined his disassembled brethren on the floor in a hail of sparks.

But the wound would not be denied its due. Raven sank to her knees, holding her stained shoulder, as more robots converged. Blood turned her violet cloak black.

"RAE!" Cyborg cried in alarm from where he stood and fought.

With breath-taking grace, he nullified his current adversary and began to pummel his way over to Raven, leaving a trail of smoking entrails. Beast Boy—now in the form of a furious and enormous wolf—finished off the robot crushed beneath his paws and followed Cyborg's lead. Starfire covered the both of them from above, picking off Slade's minions while dodging their counter-fire.

Beast Boy reached Raven first.

He leapt over her bowed head and took down the robot charging her from behind. His powerful jaw chomped onto its neck, severing it. The decapitated body fell to the floor with a satisfying _thud_.

Huffing in victory, Beast Boy trotted back over to Raven, where his pleased snorts wilted into concerned whimpers. Raven's chin was on her chest and her naked face was twisted in pain. Her tangled, lavender hair clung to her sweaty cheeks. Her breath came out in short gasps.

Dark red leaked through her fingers and trickled down her arm as she pressed her palm into her shoulder. The battle forgotten, Beast Boy crouched protectively beside her.

Cyborg came a moment later. His mismatched face was covered in burn marks and splotches of oil—the blood of his enemies. He crouched in front of Raven with a grim expression.

Starfire was doing her best to keep the robots at bay. Circling like a vulture above, her hands were blurs of fuming, flaming green as she fired away. An avenging angel, she rained down brilliant judgment without remorse. Yet, even in all her righteous glory, her strength was beginning to wane. Each starbolt she loosed took a larger and larger toll; her fire began to flicker. Gravity and fatigue brought her closer to earth.

From the shadows, Slade watched all of this with increasing interest. Now was the time to strike. With the witch girl injured and the alien overextended, there was little standing in his way of victory. Before he set the next phase of his plan into action, his roaming eye found the shell-shocked Robin sprawled beside the westernmost tunnel. The boy wasn't moving.

Slade frowned. His disappointment was palpable.

It was obvious his apprentice would be of little use…for the moment.

 _If you want something done right_ … the villain thought with a cruel leer.

And with that, Slade entered stage right.

But he didn't fight fair.

As he sprinted from his hiding place, he jabbed a button on his vambrace. The lights shut off, cloaking the haunt in complete darkness. The temporary confusion should be enough of a window for him to finish the pesky trespassers.

"Stay together!" Cyborg cried to his teammates.

The robots continued to swarm.

Electrical flares flashed now and then as Cyborg repulsed onslaughts in the dark, metal against metal.

After a few costly moments of blind bewilderment, Starfire conjured a flame out of her palm, shedding a meager green light.

It wasn't quick enough.

Her hesitation was enough time for his men to take aim and fire. She was strong, but not strong enough to withstand several direct hits. Her weak radiance snuffed out and she crashed to the ground with an ostentatious _boom_!

"STAR!" Cyborg's disembodied voice yelled in dismay.

The robots kept him and Beast Boy herded away; he couldn't help her.

A wolf howled.

"If she moves, shoot her," Slade hissed to the surrounding robots as he passed them by.

He didn't even give the injured Starfire so much as a backward glance.

With mindless obedience, his men formed a tight circle around the girl, blocking any would-be return to the battlefield. Each of them aimed a blaster at her purple chest. Her scarlet hair formed a wide-arcing halo around her head. Her tan face was taut with pain. Her closed lids twitched as she went in and out of consciousness. The cement around her body was cracked and dented from the impact of her crash—a concrete snow angel.

The remaining Titans were quickly outmatched.

Cyborg and Beast Boy now fought back-to-back with Raven sandwiched between them.

Smirking, Slade wound around his soldiers, haunting their steps as he stalked his prey.

He inched closer to his target, crouching low to the ground. His army pressed in on all fronts, keeping the boys occupied. Blood continued to weep out of Raven's shoulder. She waved a trembling hand when she could, but her injury prevented her from doing much more than blocking the occasional shot. Her concentration dwindled as the pain mounted.

Her assistance would soon be less than nothing.

The coils of the snake tightened.

Cyborg fired his sonic cannon in a steady stream while Beast Boy snapped his apex predator jaws at the encroaching automatons.

Slade waited patiently.

His impressive stock of robots had been emptied. All of his supply had been destroyed or was currently employed.

Cyborg's sonic cannon was the final flicker of hope in the monstrous dark.

It was burning to the wick.

The dazzling blue glow was noticeably subdued. Its impact, shrunken. The floor no longer quaked and the rafters above quieted their rattling. The siege of robots grew more confident and trudged forward, gaining precious gray ground.

Slade recognized the telltale signs of a depleted battery.

So did Cyborg, but he wasn't going down with a whimper.

"YOU WANNA PIECE OF THIS?!" the courageous Titan yelled even as his sonic cannon sputtered.

Underscoring that threat, Beast Boy loosed a blood-freezing snarl.

His wolfish muzzle was carved in angry lines. Mouth wide, he revealed rows of jagged teeth that dripped eager drool. The fur on his back was raised in a fearsome ridge that paralleled his lupine spine. His pointed ears were pressed flat against his skull and his angled, canine eyes sparkled with unconcealed rage as he stared into the faceless horde.

His tail was stiff. His haunches were tensed, ready to spring. A substantial mound of wreckage lay at his paws.

Unimpressed, Slade motioned for his men to press the attack.

Cyborg and Beast Boy roared in unison.

Cyborg lowered his weaponized arm and traded his cannon for a fist, pounding the intruders straight through the chest. Beast Boy, per usual, leapt into the fray like a berserker and went into a barbaric frenzy.

It was a heroic act, but a senseless one.

He left Raven's back exposed.

Slade didn't hesitate.

He pocketed one of his soldier's blasters and crept into enemy camp.

Huddled on the floor, clinging to cognizance, Raven detected movement out of the corner of her eye. Her senses wailed in a silent alarm. Cyborg's back was to her as he took on ten androids at once. She could hear Beast Boy making a ruckus, but the changeling himself was lost in the pregnant gloom.

With effort, she raised her hand to keep whatever it was away.

Before her magic could respond, however, something cold and hard wrapped around her wrist and yanked her up, cutting off her meditation.

She cried out as she came face-to-mask with Slade.

He merely narrowed his eye at her in his typical, characteristic greeting before twirling her around like a demented dance partner and holding a blaster to her head. His right arm roped around her chest. It was like a leaden weight, pinning her against him.

Desperate, her eyes lost their color as she struggled to recall her power. Slade returned the favor by cocking the gun and knifing a malicious thumb into her weeping shoulder. She screamed and lurched against the hurt.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he hissed in her ear, his metal chin grazing her cheek.

"LET HER GO!"

Finally wise, Cyborg detangled himself from a batch of robots and sprinted in Slade's direction. Somewhere, Beast Boy yelped and mowed down his electric adversaries as he paved a path back to Raven.

The robots swiveled and ambled after the Titan pair.

Slade tightened his grip and pivoted, keeping the changeling and the bionic boy in his sights. Raven flailed but it did little good. He kept a constant, cruel pressure on her shoulder—hooking his thumb into her lacerated collarbone. Her face corkscrewed and she bit her lower lip in an effort to keep from sobbing.

"One more step and she loses her head, _"_ Slade threatened in a smooth, steady voice when Cyborg and Beast Boy approached.

Skidding to a halt, the Bengal Tiger Beast Boy growled.

His striped tail swished unhappily. His astute, cat-slit eyes ping-ponged between Slade and Raven.

Despite Slade's warning, he shifted his front paws forward and lowered his exotic head in a hostile pose. His extended claws thirsted for blood. Cyborg was at the big cat's side, glowering. His hands were in keen fists. A flashlight popped out of his shoulder cavity, illuminating the situation.

Unaffected by the sudden light, Slade buried the barrel of the gun into the side of Raven's crumpled porcelain brow. His pupil flashed without remorse. At his unseen behest, the remaining automatons halted their advance. They watched noiselessly from the shadows, waiting for their master's kill command.

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear enough," Slade mused sarcastically. "If you don't surrender by the time I count to three, I'm going to blow your little friend's brains out."

Accenting that point, the hand that was wrapped around Raven's injured shoulder squeezed with enhanced vigor. She couldn't bite back the whimper that escaped through her clamped lips. Instinctively, she curled into herself. Her graceful jaw brushed against Slade's vambrace. Horrible barbs of pain shot down her arm, up her neck, and into her back, shredding the transit nerves.

Beast Boy yowled despairingly.

"Let. Her. Go," Cyborg repeated in a throaty, dark growl.

"1…2…" Slade responded in patronizing fashion.

His finger put more pressure on the trigger. Raven braced herself.

Beaten, Cyborg shook his head with an irritated snarl. He elbowed Beast Boy's shoulder and lifted his hands in submission. His dark eye burned with hatred.

A lingering, unhappy rumble reverberated from the great cat's chest, but Beast Boy straightened out of his crouch nonetheless.

His tail evaporated, his eyes widened and changed character, he lost his striped fur, and his bones snapped and re-organized as he transformed back into a human.

Still, he didn't raise his arms. He crossed them and clenched his elfin chin in a paltry show of nerve.

"See? That wasn't so hard," Slade taunted and he jerked his jaw at the robot spectators.

His men shuffled forward and quickly restrained the remaining pair of Titans.

Cyborg submitted with quiet dignity, but his eye was shrewd. He was already calculating possible options of escape.

Conversely, Beast Boy squawked and struggled when the robots came for him. His stare remained locked on Raven as he fought without heart against the hands of his captors, trying to inch closer to her.

Enjoying himself too much, Slade gave Raven's shoulder another cruel pinch. Hissing, her bowstring lips pulled back and she gnashed her teeth and whimpered.

Beast Boy fell easily for the bait.

"STOP THAT!" he cried, spit flying from his mouth. "You're hurting her!"

Slade paid the changeling's ill-thought-out complaint no mind and barked:

"Get them into position."


End file.
